Dewey Lambdin - The King`s Coat

He seated her on the table and knelt on a bench before her, and she parted her thighs for him. His fingers were busy with the back of her sack gown while hers opened his waistcoat, and their lips ground against each other, bringing a salty taste. She gasped as he lifted her gown and all her petticoats and stepped closer, struggling with the buttons of his straining breeches. ’You will witness that I was forced!" she said in a soft voice as he slid her forward toward him and found her wet and slick and open for him. She gasped and squealed as he entered her deep, and clung to him fierce as a new bride as he began slowly pumping away. After a while she began to sob and gnaw on his shoulder, and lifted her legs about his waist to hold him closer to her. ’Oh God, my husband shall surely kill you for this, oh God, yes he shall, oh… Alan," and much more in the same vein. A moment later she squealed in delicious transport and melted to him as he stood between her thighs until his own release exploded into her.

She insisted he was a heartless ravisher, but helped as they explored the cool surface of the table, knelt on a bench before him as he stood behind her ahold of her hips; she cried softly for mercy as she drew him down on the grass in only corset and stockings, to ride Saint George above him, her heavy breasts dangling in his palms while she galloped as frenzied as a huntsman riding hell-for-leather for a distant steeple while he looked up at the stars and her crumpled face. Between bouts she fought him without strength, swore he was sure to be killed for ravishing her, that he had tempted her weak and vulnerable nature… It was midnight before they felt sated enough to dress and head back to the veranda. The dinner and card party was still going strong as people got drunker and louder. Music played and some danced. ’I must go now," she said. attempting to adjust her wig and hat. "Don't see me in. I would die of shame, I must look ravaged.’

’Use my room to rearrange yourself, dear," Alan said, still eager to use her more, "we can send down for cold wine, perhaps a bite of supper. You can't go home like this, or face the company so mussed.’

’You must swear that you shall not abuse me further. What you have done is mortal sin enough. 011, I must make myself presentable… only to save my honor, will I go upstairs. Promise me-" Mrs. Haymer dithered. ’ I promise." He looked about for Kenyon, Tad, or their host, but they were not present. The servant Cassius approached. ’I shall be retiring shortly, Cassius," Lewrie said "I'd admire some cold hock and something from the supper. Before that, light us up. This lady tripped and fell while taking the air in the gardens and she would like to freshen up before going home.’

’Yas, sab," Cassius said with a knowing expression. He summoned a tiny linkboy with a candelabra who led them toward the side stairs as Margaret went on. "I thank you for the kind offer of your room so I may rearrange myself, Mister Lewrie. I promise I shan't delay your retiring any more than I can help.. ‘.

The room was small but pleasant, titted with a washhand stand and mirror, chest, armoire and a table and two chairs by the veranda doors. The bed was high, curtained with thin cloth to keep insects off during the night. The linkboy lit two candles and stepped out into the hall, Lewrie following to complete the sham as Margaret began to attend to her makeup and dress.

The boy went down the stairs with the candelabra, leaving Lewrie alone in the dark hall, listening to the sounds of the house. Within few minutes the boy was back, as Cassius ascended the stairs with a tray bearing a chilled bottle of hock, glistening and dripping dew, a covered server redolent of tongue, ham and roast chicken, two plates and two glasses. Cassius knocked on the door and was admitted. Margaret blushed even further when she saw the tray and its contents, and glared at Lewrie in the doorway. ’I shall not discommode you further, Mister Lewrie," she said. "Take your time, madam. I am quite happy to wait in the hall until you have completed your toilet," he offered to her dignity. "I wait 'n' light the lady down, sah?" Cassius asked. ’I shall do that, no bother," Lewrie told him, and the servant gave him a slight nod on his way out. Lewrie stepped out into the dark hall to protect her reputation, at least until the servants had made their way down the stairs. Once they were out of sight, Alan started to reenter the room but was taken by the sight of a dark lady at the end of the hall, clad in a thin gown, making her way surreptitiously from one room to another, and from the stealthy way she handled the doorknobs and avoided creaks, she was most practiced at country-house games. In the shadows he was unseen, and grinned with delight as he saw that the lady bore a striking resemblance to Lady Cantner! He scratched at his own door, and not hearing any answer, turned the knob and entered. Mrs. Haymer had seated herself in front of a small mirror redoing her makeup, and still wore her wig and hat. ’I really am going to go, Alan," she said. "I am not a guest in this house. We must end this charade. You have done enough.. ‘.

He stepped up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders and began to massage her neck. She relaxed and leaned back against him. He bent down and kissed her shoulders. "Like hell I have.’

’No, Alan… do not tempt me further, please.’

He raised his hands and lifted her wig off, hat and all. She had cut her hair short for the heat of the tropics, little longer than his. He pulled her to her feet and linked his arms around her from behind, massaging her breasts through her corset and gown. ’I mean to have you in a real bed, so I can look at all of you, so I can get at all of you-’

‘No, there isn't time, I must go-" He hoisted her gown and pressed his aching groin against the pillow-softness of her buttocks, fitting between the mounds.

Take your time, spoon 'em up with kisses and cream and they'll sit on it like it was the crown jewels. Give 'em half a choice an' you can whistle before they'd let you. But tell 'em, and they melt. Some of' em, anyway…

One hand held a breast, one hand pressed at the base of her belly, twining in the mossy growth still damp with their passion. It was a matter of moments to have her out of her gown, to shuck his own rags, to peel her stockings off, unlace her corset and tumble into bed on top of her. As though mesmerized, she allowed herself to be opened, to be molded and kissed and stroked into panting ruin once more, and then again, and again…

The candles guttered down in puddles of tallow before he allowed her to insist, and win, that she must depart. By his watch it was nearly three in the morning, and the house was dead quiet as he lit her down the stairs with a stub of a candle. She pressed a note with her address into his hand, told him that her only servant had the day off on Thursdays, which was soon, that he must not even consider ever seeing her again, and that there was a garden gate entrance to her lodgings on a quiet side street, but that he must desist in his passion before her husband shot him dead! She slunk into her coach, practically the last one still on the grounds, and plodded away at a pace that would not draw undue attention as birds began to twitter in the trees. ’Now maybe I can eat that bird," Lewrie said aloud.

He found another candle by a cardtable as his own guttered out, then trod softly back up the stairs in his stockinged feet. Once in his room he slid out of his clothes and went to the tray. The wine was enough for a full bumper and still cool. And the cold meat and crusty bread went down pleasantly. He was sitting at the small table stark naked and chewing lustily when he heard a tiny noise in the hall. It brought a grin. Somebody sneaking back to their "lawful blanket," I'll warrant…