Although I can lay claim to my characters (with a tasteful blend with the classics), it's of course heavily influenced by Carroll and and the 1950's film especially. Also, it shares elements with the 2010 Wonderland so it's all around a grab from here and there while being true to my vision. But all in all this is NOT you childhood Wonderland!
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
From the moment Lord Mather darkened her father’s doorstep- the man, with high hat in hand- he sought beseechingly for a glimpse of her oval face as he glanced past her father’s shoulder. Chessa, the maid and her trusted comrade of four or so years shifted her glassy eyes upon the now lax frame of one Alice Darhling.
The girl who had moments ago light-heartedly chased the skirt tails of the slightly older woman- with a whimsical look upon her dark skin washed by a ruddy flush creeping up her neck and tasting her cheeks- now seemed to have fallen from a precipice right before the woman. Chessa clucked her tongue lightly- for Alice’s benefit and ears only- and clutched the girl’s fingertips between their multilayered skirts. Her glassy eyes tried to convey some conviction for the poor girl.
The man, who’d now regularly come to call upon the lord of the manor- gossip flying about saying he frequented the estate perhaps at least thrice a week, looked much of a besotted man.
His deep blue eyes lingered upon Alice, taking in the eggshell blue and white silk dress, the immensely wide pagoda sleeves with lace trim at the wrist- what much to his distress- concealed much of that beauteous skin. He’d oftentimes imagined what it would be akin to lay his upon that skin, the flesh supple and vibrant with the cusp of youth. His Alice, yes his. That sounded astutely satisfying.
Alice, failing to regain composure and the distress marring her generous mouth, looked pleadingly at the hind of her father- wishing he would send the man off. He was not wanted here- surely not by her!
The evening meal commenced.
Previously, her father had spirited the man away- his hands almost too enthusiastically clasping about the younger man’s far taller shoulders, pulling him into an embrace. They were in his study for hours. Topics they were discussing were lost upon her, further imbuing the fear causing her flat stomach to quake. The feeling that resounded there was something she could only equate to – betrayal. At her father, at this home empty of maternal shelter.
But now they were all sitting like the ladies and lords that venerated society had bred them as, well gilded, groomed façades but nonetheless shit filled. She tipped her bowl forward, the silver pealing against the crockery as she spooned her soup.
Lord Mather- Arthur, as he had almost mortifyingly pleaded to be called, made Alice cringe at the familiarity. At how close it seemed to bring him to her body as his name left her mouth. Her breasts heaved slightly, a tight sob beginning to form from the depths of her soul at her increasing dilemma.
Laughter surfed over her as she looked at each red face odiously. At her father, who’d during the course of the conversation had unbuttoned his wool waistcoat, his chest expanding as each man appeared to stroke the member of their exponentially large egos.
Arthur had made a joke of some sort.
Suspicion took to her like a vise as she stared from one man to the other; then finally coming to rest upon her step-mother, Anna Louise- whose pretty face glanced quickly over to her place at the table- almost knowingly. The smile which lit her face alerted Alice to this. Her chestnut curls framed her heart-shaped face exaggeratedly with her wide brown eyes alit with something akin to arrogance. Her creamy breasts jutted out tastelessly, her flesh full and lush from indulgence and the vast resources of her father’s pocket books.
“Alice,” her step-mother called. At once the entire table of four silenced, taking in her mum figure.
“Yes, ma’am.” Alice said, expelling each syllable as though it afforded her a great deal.
“I was just now commenting at how accomplished of a young lady you are becoming at the pianoforte. Please do tell Lord Mather,” she turned conspiratorially to the gentleman, “and singing as well.”
She cleared her throat, the soup suddenly thick upon her tongue, “Well I can scarcely call myself accomplished. I adhere to my practices and Mister Crosby has esteemed me to be one of his best pupils.” She would match the woman wits for wits, and would not be put on the spot as she took in the woman’s wicked expression. “As for singing, one can hardly lead per say, but I can carry a tune my lord.”
Arthur appeared as though it cut him deeply to have been referred to so distantly.
“Please,” he held his hand to his breast theatrically, which contained the meat of his life-sustaining organ. He continued on: “Arthur, I beg you. I feel as though we have grown to have such an intimate acquaintance that it is hardly necessary to refer to be with such severe formality.”
“My lord,” Alice pleaded at feeling the heat begin to rise to her face.
“It’s so formal and conventional that it begs for encroachment upon woe. Woe- that our friendship has escalated so little.” He then stated adamantly, “So please, Arthur.”
“Arthur,” she repeated.
It came out low and foreign upon her tongue as though from disuse or perhaps a burden of forced complacent conformity. They were all so fond of the foppish man, and she felt as though she would be picked upon until she was hanging from his coattails as well.
His eyes gleamed effervescently, his mind and senses assaulted by her gentle loveliness: The soft swell of post-adolescent breasts. The soft skin- God, the layers of silk of it he begged doggedly to touch. To lave for countless hours. The floral toilette upon her skin floating over to him, goading his astral self upon the air until he hovered above her lamenting that cupid’s sure arrow had struck him hard.
He’d mourned of course, at his jostled state of bachelorhood- any man with a sound countenance would have, and at his surcease of plowing through London’s ton of young quim. And he’d been elbow deep in that fresh virginity. But at the exact moment of their fateful meeting, he had been had. Her soft flaxen curls framing that angelic face as she called his name, perhaps he hoped that soon it would be mid-coitus of him ribbed deep within that softness. He didn’t even mind the gossip of her gentility- that of her mother’s lineage of course.
Arthur’s cock twitched mercilessly at the concept of their lovemaking.
“Well,” his well greased lips smacked.
She recoiled at the sudden perverse nature they had spoken and formed themselves.
“You should surely enlighten me with your company- and your pianoforte of course. And I dine to hear you sing-” he held up a staying hand. “Nevertheless whatever breath may expel from your mouth Alice, I dare say is as enrapturing as the last as it must be in song.”
She blushed violently.
Alice loathed admitting and submitting to her conscience, but the quiet stroll in the garden was- nice. Pleasant almost as he foddered and over indulged himself in light caresses at her arm caught in the bend of his. Her parent and step parent had so overtly given the young couple free exercise of each other, the impropriety.
She pretended to lose her thought upon a bush nearby, boasting pearlescent pink roses. Her fingertips lingered upon its creamy membrane half wishing the obstacle at the other end of her would disappear. He clung to her every word and at present he was lavishing her with praise of her gentle breeding and what a magnificent example of modern pragmatism was that it afforded the escalation of young women.
He had been speaking for some time now, even switching his topic. “…a testament to intellect. That you are.”
He fancied that he looked rather exquisite in a short double-breasted, ribbed cloth frock coat of dark navy, grosgrain lining and wool trousers which together complemented his fair complexion, pale hair and light blue eyes.
She stared back at him with darkened eyes, forcing herself to further indulge him, fearful that her disinterest might foster more damaging inquisitions.
“An accomplished woman has always stood upon the fringes of progress, my dear. England far surpasses that of its cousins and children. Your conviction is almost staggering when in its presence my dear.”
His hand touched hers then and she could hardly fool herself the lenience he had given himself upon skittering his fingertips across the back of her hand. He patted her arm gently and drew her closer to him as they ambled through a tight pathway and he led her to a bench.
Arthur felt that the moment of proclamation was right. He was certain that a man of his station should not succumb to a woman no matter how pleasurable the thought of cock to quim. Especially the lovely Alice’s young quim.
He thought of how he’d take her, perhaps even before the taste of matrimonial consummation. And he further mused on the depth and tightness of his future lady’s delicate, well-bred pussy. But he reeled himself in and brought himself to the matter at hand.
She sat, as though waiting expectantly for him.
And then he knelt, ever so gallantly making his intentions clear as he looked up into her face dotingly. And she did something he had never expected, something that a man of his status and station could never fathom and succor.
Alice half expected her actions, for she simply felt her body pull into motion solely upon instinct. At present, she did not care for impropriety or society or even the swag gossip from the lips of the ton. She simply picked up her many yards and layers of silk and ermine and ran, her undergarments peeking out overtly risqué.
Her legs propelled her forward until she knew that she’d lost sight of the man then slowed ever so slightly as she came upon the door from which they’d exited perhaps half an hour ago. And she ran straight into the arms of her father, whose smile instantly died upon his lips as he took in her displaced, flushed countenance.
He expected the worst, she thought, that perhaps his youngest and only had just been defiled at the hands of a lord. A wealthy and powerful one at that.
She shook her head furiously half at the denial and half that her days of lightheartedness had peeled away in such a short duration of time. “Father,” she began her lower lip quivering terribly.
The look of contempt weighed heavily upon his brow as he continued to take in her disheveled appearance and grasped the bend of her arm fiercely half taking her from her feet as he ushered her from the cavernous vestibule- which led out to the marble portico- and into the much smaller antechamber leading into the quarters that served as his study and scholarly haven.
Without further word, she parted from him upon entering flexing and rubbing at her arm where surely a bruise should sprout some time soon. He’d never in her nine and ten years manhandled her. This new Papa, she did not understand- and did not want.
He went behind his oak desk to forage for a cigar.
He’d never done that, smoked in her presence due to him lamenting the decadent relief would incur upon her mind, feeble lungs and the female disposition. Her father walked nearby her perch in the armchair before the fireplace, which was lit but yet the warmth could not seep into her flesh. She felt sorrow and in the throes of drowning like a mewling kitten in a world of hurt and- and shock. She could not bring herself from this, she was sure of it.
“Father,” Alice began with a small voice.
And there she reminded him so much of the woman who had been his first wife. His first love. The woman he still in many ways grieved desperately for. He’d gone to the Africa as a fresh faced, opinionated youth full of hunger for protest and had returned to his homeland with a dark Namibian with an Afrikaans tongue. It had been…eventful, his return.
He pulled long on the cigar between his fingers at the unwarranted onslaught of memories.
“Silence Alice. I beg peace from your tongue for once.” He turned just so to throw his hot glare upon her.
Yes, she was definitely her mother’s. But he was there as well- somewhere between the olive, sun-darkened skin (that he couldn’t shield from the truth of the sun and ton) to the crown of golden locks billowed about her face like a halo. His wealth and name alone had been barely enough to shield her from society. Just barely.
“But father, I cannot have you think the worst of me- under the circumstances-”
He cut her off curtly. “You shall listen to me girl.”
Alice’s mouth clapped shut as she returned a hot look at being commanded such as this. She’d always been mindful of herself as a woman but from him- who had nurtured and cultivated her as a father of his station and possessive of that immense love, she could not have guessed this…
“I’ve coddled you for long enough, Alice.”
She spoke. “What do you mean?”
“He is a good man. Fine-breeding, wealth, and- and a well connected family Alice. Think of it, no man of his station will ever have you, there will not be a second likelihood of you marrying well, living a life I’ve afforded for you for so long now.”
“It does not matter. What are the chances that he will have me? But I shall not give him the option- I refuse to be a concubine.”
He approached her then at her vulgarity. “What do you know of it?”
“My mother’s pride runs deep in my veins and it tells me I am naught but a conquest, as there will be others naïve and fresh as me- pre and post-nuptial. This constant fawning, his rapt interest, he’s a charlatan.”
Richard Darhling slapped her hard across the face and for a moment he caught himself. The fear in her eyes, the skin about them wet with shock and tears as she stared back at him in disbelief. His hand trembled as he went to her to appease the pain, to remedy his actions.
Apart of him surely died this day for those were the words of his ex-wife. He had but wanted to reveal to her ways of the world, but she was a woman- who he had inhibited.
He retreated, his assaulting hand still at his side as it had newly become the assassin of his dearest relationship. The other clutched at the cigar- what was sending ribbons of smoke and tobacco odors into the atmosphere of the overcastted, book-shelved study.
He did not apologize, he knew his daughter just as he knew the conviction upon her face.
“I never wanted this for you, love. Nor us.”
Within she swayed as though she had disconnected from the world and its gravity. But she found herslef. She found pride, so that she may speak.
“You are mistaken. I cannot blame you for your ambitions father, I’m but a small piece upon the board, aren’t I not?" Her fists were balled at her sides, hidden by the folds of her skirts. And surprisingly she found that she could feel nothing towards him. A sure numbness had settled itself about her. "For in a much grander scheme of things there is nothing as perfuse as what gleams like the gilded gates to Parliament. I hope you will be happy in this decision, that you can eventually find absolution given that you make it to the ripe years of a century and forever.”
He motioned as though to speak, but this time it was he who was quieted.
She held her hand before him, knowing her resolve would be shaken if he held her close and loved her to the ends of the New World. “You have set me right to my ways, I know my place and that I ultimately have no decision in this. But understand if- when I do this, love lost will be between us surely. And I’ll leave you to your lecherous wife. She will know what to do with you and thus avenge me.”
Regaining her composure, she rose to her feet and readjusted her tan kid skin gloves. And she walked from the room, but paused momentarily to speak again. “I never said I would make the chase easy for him. I will not show him kindness and I will no longer indulge his musings of nothings. But if he still means to have me, I’ll tend my keep father. I gift you that. At least.”
And she walked away, for the second time for the day- away from the life she was so well versed in even if she did not call it to mind. She’d left his study, gaining a million and one years upon her head. As she left her father's study that evening she mused that upon entering she had been a foolish girl and daughter but now, with her back ramrod straight and forcing the dignity she did not possess- she was now a woman.
The man would stay the night at the far left wing of the estate. She was grateful of the distance of course, but she could still feel his rancid breath upon her. As he fretted at his standing with her after she’d come into contact with him. That perhaps at sup he might’ve displeased her in some way.
Decidedly, silent it was, her father would retrieve the situation and so he did with his silver tongue from the silvered spoon residue.
In her room, she slipped from her layers of clothing, remaining in her cream, satin chemise and drawers.
“Chessa, I won’t need you tonight,” she stated as if from a distance.
The woman went still from picking up the clothing upon the bed. “Are you sure ma’am?”
“Deadly so.” She turned, half unseeing of the woman as Chessa silently moved about fetching her castoffs and replenishing fresh water in the basin for her wash.
As soon as the door clicked into place Alice finished undressing. Her small, slender hands squeezing and poking at the planes and valleys of her lean body. She was unfit to bear children, from where would they come from such a meager frame?
She washed her skin slowly, languidly relishing what would be possibly her last days of perpetual freedom. The cool cloth skittered across her hot flesh as her hands found her mound- the soft thatch of dark curls and then her pulsating core. And she was ever neglectful of her needs, she was fearful but perhaps- perhaps she thought it wouldn’t be that bad as she envisioned Lord Maher working her gushing pussy furiously.
She almost gagged. He was not portly, far from it, but she wanted to think of him as so. Not as the dashing, tall lord- Adonis to the ton- who’d come to call. The meal had been awkward and his skin looked like pig flesh secreting juices, causing a wan and unhealthy gleam to coat him. This might’ve been attributed to his obvious anxiety but she cared naught.
Chessa had irksomely lectured her upon the fineness of him, but the woman- she could have him whole if she wanted.
Chessa went off to her duties as fast as humanly possible, excitedly pushing tendrils of escaping hair back into her bun. And when she came upon him, Lord Maher, under strict dictation from the lord of the manor she was more than willing to do said duties. Wages equating to nothing would be surely worth it even.
She rapped at the door thrice before entering the dim, gas lamp illuminated chambers. “Pardon me, sir.” She bobbed her curtsey at seeing the man in a state of undress.
“I’ve b-brought w-w-water,” here she was reeling like a schoolgirl caught by the headmistress.
He simply ignored her, waving her in with his sea-blue eyes glossy as though a world of worries were upon him. He sat upon the bed heavily undoing the ascot at his throat in one swipe as she clambered forward upon unsure limbs to pour water from the pitcher.
She stood there for some time, uncertain. Suddenly feeling especially inadequate in her thin layers of limp, wool petticoats, the fabric worked to inches of its life. She swallowed hard, “May I speak freely?”
Chessa had half expected to hear nothing from the man but she was frightened when he acknowledged her finally. “I’ve got ears, and you’re a free woman.”
“Certainly,” she agreed shifting from one foot to the other. “The lady will come around my lord.”
He reclined, defeated, perhaps she should not have broached the subject none at all. But nevertheless she continued, “I’m sure of it. She’s young and knows not the hardship of life as of yet and hopefully she will not have to.”
And she turned to leave but something came over her as she bit her lower lip ruthlessly. She dipped the wash cloth in the water and went over to him.
There was no reaction which goaded her further into placing the cool cloth upon his warm, day-stained forehead.
His hand suddenly found hers as she sat there feeling ashamed but steadfastly transfixed by the blue sea gobbling her up and the firm, real fingers about hers. He let go, defeated again.
The cloth was upon his chest now, followed by a cold trail along his bared skin as it traveled lower until it rested at the top of his trousers. The crisp hairs upon his lower abdomen folded under her foreign weight as she looked at the evident bulge in his wool trousers then back to his eyes.
Which pled, Yes.
Her hand swiftly slipped beneath the fabric, her cool hand at once assaulted by the thick organ and the unimaginable heat within his pants. Her chest heaved lightly as electric shivers traveled through her as though she fought to vomit or expire of loss of breath, she was not certain.
But her head, it felt full and unthinking and she recalled reconciling her actions all the time: that she’d oftentimes went forgotten.
She peeled back the top flaps and his organ spilled free over to the side, finally breaking from its constraints. She looked at his eyes again, for some sign but she found none- she could not read him at all- as she took in the white flesh of his cock, the almost translucent skin ribbed with visible veins. The pink tip glistened lightly, betraying his appetite.
She continued to stare, finding her early shame dissipating rather quickly, his cock bulged by the second under her sheepishly placed hand, it looked like an animal- large in a mass of dark blonde curls.
Her fingers went to work as she gingerly gripped the shaft in her hand, pre-cum already flowing and wetting her skin. And a small challenge of her own as she gripped the other hand about the half-erect tool, licking her lips appreciatively as she failed to leave his glance the entire time as she parted his legs, knelt, then lowered her face to his crotch.
Lord Maher, he was much bigger than she’d ever imagined- not that the thought that this might happen had graced her mind. Her lips stretched over her teeth as she eased open her jaws ever so slightly as she lowered herself and fed his length into her inch by inch savoring that he felt the pressure of it the entire duration- by the look upon his face.
His hand moved to her head, slightly caressing her face as he loosened the bun upon her head, causing the thick locks to spill across her face and his swollen member.
She giggled, causing him to almost loose himself at the flutter of the back of her throat on his cock. He groaned audibly. “I still want to see that pretty face,” he huffed as he brushed the locks from her face.
Pretty. He’d called her pretty, but perhaps that had been proffered under the current circumstances. But who cared? She smiled within herself as she bobbed up and down- her full lips smacking and sucking at his cock, the girth stretching her face to the point of discomfort.
She dipped faster, her hands expertly pumping his shaft as her lips and tongue sucked up the length of tip to base, making enthusiastic gurgling noises. And half deep throating him to her disbelief- the fluids thick and streaming as she retreated for breath, his thick cock a new shade of screaming pink as she came up. He tasted of a light sweat and smelt of carnal musk.
She removed her mouth entirely before going back to the delicate tip, the slick sounds of working him with her fingers and hands incited her as she rubbed the fluids over his flesh- of saliva and semen- along the length for smooth friction. She smiled.
“How’s that my lord? I can tell it pleases you.” She giggled like a girl half her age.
“It does,” he agreed with a smile as the sticky sounds filled the dim room. “Suck me again.”
And she complied without argue, her head again dipping and sluicing his juices from the meat between his legs. He groaned again, through the fast up and down, up and down- suck and slurps as he peeled at her exposed chemise- his mouth forming a soft ‘O’- to free her heavy breasts and reveal hard, dark peaks upon the globes.
He squeezed hard, causing her to inhale deeply- her throat thrumming again and constricting, milking him- doing wonderful things to his cock. She sucked lightly at his testicles, bringing the loose sac into her mouth and nipping lightly, remembering not to neglect the delicate base of the scrotum. Her tongue flitted across like butterfly caresses, teasing his tip to no avail.
Chessa was not immune either. Her clit throbbed as a flood of hunger washed over her again, her center spilling its arousal from her slit. She found solace, even little, in grinding against his lower leg trying to find some kind of satisfaction through the layers of petticoat. The scent of her arousal wafted through the room.
They changed positions as he grew restless and eager, he gripped her head and wrest it at a grotesque angle as he clung to her tresses, thrusting his hips violently into her mouth as his member pumped rapidly, choking her and the sounds of oral satisfaction reverberating in her ears. His erection popped free and semen spilled from the corners of her lips.
And then his eyes had suddenly gone black with something, something she could not place as his grip became almost forceful as she discovered she was being pushed to her back by his strong, sculpted arms, his cock dangling from the splayed mouth of his trousers. There was little time wasted as he shed what stood between him and satisfaction.
Within seconds he was completely nude and ripping at her bodice and petticoats.
“My lord,” she pled feebly as she placed a hand at his chest. “It’s the only good one I’ve got.”
“I will buy another,” he said frustrated. She remained silent as he disrobed her and she retreated back on the bed her thatch of brunette curls on display.
Arthur lunged for her legs and pulled her roughly towards him and in a fluid motion he was hovering above her, his cock at a salute and shaking at his every move. Her breath was held the entire time as he neglected foreplay completely as he opened her thighs further apart with his own, the same hotness rolling from his groin and now his entire body was flushed by the fever.
He wet the ends of his fingers with his tongue before lightly stroking his tip then reached for her cunt. She was so wet for him already, for she was practically spilling juices from her entrance and down her plump ass. He positioned himself before violently ramming half of himself into her slick channel. And he worked her pussy rapidly, his cock pummeling in and out in a tacky rhythm, his balls slapping loudly against her ass as he pushed up- jamming against her spot then out of her.
She bucked beneath him the entire time, equally as involved, trying to full her pussy to the brim. Her legs pulled high to her sides and parted as far as though they might split.
Perhaps he was not the perfect lover but it had always sufficed, with the size of him and all. Many women found it satisfying. He panted as he still lapped at her vigorously, “Speak trollop.” He ground his hips furiously, inspiring something that sounded like tongues to flow from her.
His face was mere inches from her and every hot zone of them connected. Her lips were wet from oblivion as the bed quaked up and down from his exertion.
He slapped her ass for her to comply.
She spoke that odd tongue again. “Arthur,” Chessa moaned.
She was close to coming, but as soon as he hit that spot again he had slid out of her before she could recall a rhyme. She recovered quickly, thinking they had been caught but instead he had scrambled to his knees, his eyes filled with fury and reached beneath her armpits and carted her off the bed.
“What are you doing, my lord?” By now she was smart enough to conjure fear, by the look on his face and his half nowhere near flaccid cock, slick and alert, as he shoved her towards the chair. “Did I offend you?”
Arthur stood before her, looking down at his nose through hooded eyes. He stalked forward clenching her hair in a fist, her pale, plump body glistening under the firelight. “Don’t you ever address me by name.”
He then flung her over the back of the chair, the hard peak digging into her ribcage and chaffing her breasts to near pain. Arthur positioned himself behind her, kicking her legs apart as he nestled himself between her. He entered, swift and painfully.
She was torn between pain and pleasure. He ravaged her and showed no semblance of compassion as his girth ripped into her, pushing her walls apart painfully. Their juices sloshed, causing the make of suction sounds upon their eager meeting as it trailed down her inner thighs as he pounded her senseless, her back and ass arching into him- her greedy pussy showing no loyalty.
He slowed eventually but that only incited more pain as he yanked her hair harder, her hairline standing at the roots.
“You will submit. Who are you to refuse me,” he hissed into her ear. He was no fool the chit was playing him, beating him at his game. But he would have the last laugh, he always did. He slapped her ass four times and she cringed beneath his touch but yet she nudged into his cock, desperate for more.
It played on like this for the next hour and half. He would inflict pain, even he was almost aghast at his extent of play- he’d never exceeded his set limits. Not with a lady, but he remembered she was no lady- merely a moment’s whore who needed to be broken. He would offer pain but conditioned as she had become, would eagerly submit knowing that an escape lay ahead.
He thrashed her bare bum again.
Chessa whimpered, her tears all but gone as of now. There was no out of it, she had stepped into something that was beyond her and it was the fear that kept her going. She trooped on, taking what was dealt, he’d spoken. And she had not heard. Which granted her another slap on the ass. She now realized he was no longer acknowledging her, but he was now fucking Alice.
Her pussy wasted no time on eating up his cock, as she eased backward unto his hard rod and gyrating hips. “Hmm, yes. Fuck.” The tendons at his neck protested as he fought the impending expenditure. He wasn’t ready, they weren’t finished.
Arthur grasped her hips and plowed into the soft, tight core of her pussy once again, feeling as though he could never tire of the hot recess. But all good things must come to an end. He repositioned her for his comfort, hoisting up her backside- his muscular buttocks clenching from the steady pumping and rode her like a bitch in heat.
She’d come at least four times during their session. Her walls ebbed from the fifth or seventh orgasm (she’d lost count some time ago) and she felt his release of seed as he slumped upon her, spent, before sliding from her causing her to unceremoniously crumble to the floor her wonton legs splayed for the world to see as his hot seed and her cream spilled from her and pooled on the ground before her ass. The entrance of her cunt visibly expanded and contracted, her face contorted in pain and head thrown back as she fought for tears that would not come.
She could no longer look at him, if she did she would be looking at something nondescript upon him such as an odd birth mark or the singular tan, but not his genitals if she could help it nor his eyes. Especially those laughing eyes, which she had now come to translate as a sneering. There was a darkness in him, she was sure of it. No man could do such- unspeakable things and be able walk about in polite society. He motioned towards her and she flinched at seeing his hands and the memory of what they’d done to her, where they had touched her.
It was as though she no longer existed in his world as he stepped over as though she were a cast aside throw rug and to the nightstand where the basin lay. He soaked the cloth, wrung as though what transpired here were nonchalant things, and lowered his hands to clean his cock. She watched, speechless as he stroked the underside and his testicles. After their coupling, he had finished himself, expelling his remaining spunk upon her- her face and breasts- especially the breasts seeing he was so fond of them.
Then he had ceased to see her. She was back to maid Chessa, nothing Chessa that a lord could fuck and throw away just as he cast off the cloth at her feet. She watched him as he walked to the bed, with his back turned and his hard form perfect under the gas light as he climbed into bed and lay down. He positioned himself until he was content then folded his hands behind his head, his cock lying flaccid and satisfied across his abdomen.
Silently Chessa reached for the cloth and went about cleaning herself, ridding him from herself as her hand worked between her legs and a sob forming thickly in her chest as she conjured up what was left of her dignity. She dressed, all the while subject to the scrutiny of his eyes what were half shielded by his generous lashes. She donned her dress- wincing every now and again at grazing the many welts upon her body, cradled one of the torn petticoats to her bosom, then bobbed a curtsey upon finding her exit- pulling the door’s hinges to a quiet close.
She made a vow. That at any expense, she would protect the girl from one Lord Arthur Tobias Mather.
Cast photos will be posted asap.