“What?”
“Ladies pluck their cunny hair,” he answered. Then he dropped on top of her. What Harry lacked in skill he made up for with vigor, pumping against her until he had fulfilled her twice.
Afterward she felt guilty and ashamed, but as her needs far outweighed her guilt the interludes with Harry became a regular part of her life. At Court she was ogled by several young bucks, but instinct told her to be wary.
Sometime later, she had lost a little of that wariness and agreed to an assignation with Lord Basingstoke, an older gentleman who seemed pleased to believe he had seduced a bride. But even having two lovers was not enough for Constanza any longer. Her lust wasa sickness she could not rid herself of, and soon she did not even wonder at herself anymore. She was careful, however, that no one knew her terrible secret. She was not a wicked woman, and she loved her husband. But she would not, could not, stop.
Constanza did not hear Ana return. She looked up only when the heavy velvet cloak was dropped over her shoulders.
“M’lord?” asked Ana.
“Leave him,” she answered quietly. “He is sleeping soundly, and in any case I will not be long.”
“Niña, please. I beg of you.”
“Ana! I cannot help myself.” And so saying, Constanza Burke swept from the library and out of her house through a little-used side door. In the half-light of the early morning she made her way to the stables and the room in the loft where Harry slept. With a proprietary air she opened the door and, looking in, saw a naked Harry sleeping with an equally naked Polly, one of the kitchen maids. For a few moments she watched them, fascinated, then Polly opened her eyes and stared at her mistress, horrified. Constanza smiled and put a warning finger to her lips. Shrugging off the cloak, she stripped her white silk nightgown from her lush body and climbed into bed on the other side of Harry.
Polly lay stiff and frozen next to the groom. Suddenly her mistress’s face was over hers, looking down at the frightened girl.
“Suck him,” came the soft command. “Together we can drive him mad. What a bull he’ll be then.”
Polly scrambled to obey her mistress, no longer afraid. And while she eagerly did her part Constanza’s little tongue darted into and around Harry’s ear. The sleeping man stirred. Polly worked feverishly while Constanza blew softly into the groom’s ear. Harry groaned as his loins were filled with a fierce burning, and he opened his eyes, amazed by the sight that greeted him. His mighty shaft grew until Polly could hold it no longer and fell back. The groom was quickly atop her, ramming fiercely. Constanza watched, her slim fingers playing with herself until suddenly she felt Harry’s eyes upon her and looked up to meet his lascivious grin.
He had not spent himself yet, though Polly lay gasping her pleasure beneath him. Rolling off the girl, he pulled Constanza beneath him and teasingly moved himself against her engorged and throbbing sex. Constanza whimpered and strained her body upward. But he denied her. Instead, and with a refinement that shattered her, he rubbed himself over her entire body until she was begging him to take her. With a wink at Polly, Harry jammed himselfforcefully into Constanza and moved swiftly back and forth until he finally wrung from her a series of cries.
Afterward, as the three of them lay side by side, Polly ventured shyly, “My friend Claro would never believe this—and her a popular madam with her own place. But if you wasn’t the mistress, I’d introduce you to Claro. She could sure use a girl like you.”
Harry laughed at the outrageous idea, but later, when she had returned to her own bed, Constanza thought the idea over. Perhaps it was the answer to her problem. When the yearning overcame her she could sneak off to the whore’s house and indulge herself. She would be masked, but that would add a certain piquancy to her performance. Suddenly the horror of what she was thinking swept over her and she scrambled from her bed to kneel at her prie-dieu.
“Holy Mother,” she fervently prayed, “let me not do this terrible thing. Wipe my mind clean of such thoughts. I beg thee!”
Then her eyes strayed to the exquisite leather-bound book that lay on the table by her bed. It had been a gift from her lover, Lord Basingstoke, and had been brought to England by a Portuguese sea captain who had obtained it in India. Constanza rose from her knees and, sitting back on the bed, opened the book. Inside were pages and pages with beautiful and colorful illustrations of men, women, and animals performing a wide range of sexual acts, from the most pristine to the most perverted. Mesmerized, she slowly turned the pages. Her breathing had quickened and, despite her recent activity, she felt her need growing again.
Ringing for her maid, she ordered her bath and asked that her riding clothes be laid out. By the time she approached the stables the fires of her desires were growing again. She stood quietly while Harry saw to the saddling of their mounts, but the impatient tapping of her riding crop against her boot told him that her passions were riding high once more. He sighed. Her fires seemed unquenchable, though God knew he tried. There had never been a woman he couldn’t satisfy but, by Heaven, the mistress was a rare one.
They rode sedately from the house along the river road to a secluded thicket where they tethered the horses. He took her on the mossy ground, his excitement heightened by the foul words she whispered breathily in his ear. As always, he was amazed by the capacity for pure lust in this madonna-faced woman. Later, as they rode on, she said in her soft, slightly accented voice, “I want to meet Polly’s friend, Claro.”
“Woman, you’re mad!” he exclaimed. “I’m amazed that yourhusband hasn’t found out about you cuckolding him with meandLord Basingstoke. Are you looking to get caught?”
“Let me worry about Niall. I want to meet the whore. If you won’t arrange it with Polly then I must do so.”
“If having a hundred cocks up your hot little cunt will help you, Connie, then I’ll speak to Poll. ’Tis a sickness with you, I know that. There was a girl in my village in Hereford like you. She just couldn’t get enough.”
“What happened to her, Harry?”
“She died of the pox,” he answered matter-of-factly. “What would you expect?”
Several days later, with Niall Burke off hunting with friends for a week in Hampshire, Constanza Burke and Harry rode into London. She fully expected to be led into a dank slum, so she was pleasantly surprised to find herself before a small well-kept house on the London Bridge itself.
The house was whitewashed and half-timbered, and each of the three stories extended out over the other, making it look a bit like a cake. One side of the house faced the street—the bridge actually was a street—while another side looked down onto the river traffic. This was a source of continuing delight to the bargemen, who enjoyed ogling and joking with the scantily clad women who sat fanning themselves in their windows on hot summer afternoons.
“I’ll wait for you,” Harry said, helping her dismount. She drew her hood up and knocked at the door. A little maidservant opened it almost immediately and Constanza quickly entered and followed the girl down a short hallway to a pleasant sunny room with a bay window overlooking the river.
An attractive blonde with sky-blue eyes awaited her, and when the servant girl had left, the woman spoke in a husky voice. “Good afternoon, my lady. I am Claro. Polly said you wished to see me. Now you do, so how may I serve you?”
Constanza felt suddenly shy and, turning away, mumbled, “I have made a mistake in coming here.”
Claro laughed breathily. “No, my dear. Poll has told meallabout you. You have an itch that needs constant scratching, and you would join me on occasion. Please don’t be embarrassed. I should be delighted to have you with me. You’ll stay masked whenever here, and no one will ever know your real identity. Is it a bargain, my dear?”
