He huffed a laugh. It should have sent his cock shriveling into nothing, but he only grew harder at the thought of her usinghim mercilessly while he went unsatisfied. Or satisfied in some twisted way he should have hated. He’d once thought a male chastity cage an abomination, and now he wondered if he wore one in his own mind.
Anthony slowed his strokes, not wanting this to be over too fast. He pinched the skin below his sack just to mix pain with pleasure; it didn’t feel right to experience this bliss without the bittersweet edge he associated with Letitia.
From his trouser pocket, he withdrew the braid he’d surreptitiously squirreled away after she’d snipped it off. He held it to his face and tried to smell the essence that was her under the powerfully scented soap his servants must have used to wash her hair.
Thirst consumed him, but for once it didn’t send him to the decanters beside the fire. He dreamed of tasting between Letitia’s thighs, kissing the delicate skin below her navel where he’d spent many happy days at worship.
He thought back to Pinchpenny’s offer of Letitia’s arse, and his stomach turned.Thiswas what she’d left him for? And then it turned again when he recalled his urge to offer himself up in her stead. To present his own arse for rough use so Letitia might be free of it.
Anthony worked his cockhead at the thought of stepping in to save his faithless Letitia after all this time.
Living up to the surname, aren’t we?he thought wryly as he gripped his shaft harder, hoping to reach the heights to which he aspired.
Did this make him a sod? He’d had occasion to know plenty of men who — discreetly — enjoyed bedding other men, but aside from a few collegial group tugs at university, he couldn’t say that he particularly liked gents in that way. On the whole, they were a bothersome lot, as evidenced by the quick decline of the Bucks as soon as their leaders stepped away.
No, what he loved were ruffles and bustles and lace, all of which he longed to dive under so he might taste smooth skin and downy hair as a lady made noises rivaling an opera singer.
He liked nothing better than seeing a beautiful woman pour tea, all of her elegance concentrated on how she stirred the spoon about. On more than one occasion, he’d found himself on the floor after being handed a teacup, begging to pleasure his hostess.
Does my addled darling still pour as prettily as she did years ago?he wondered, stretching his foreskin over his cockhead and then bringing it down again so he could pretend he was within her perfect cunt.
Anthony recalled once bending Letitia over a divan and riding her so hard the tea tray threatened to slide off the low table nearby. He could still see those spindly wooden legs shaking as he filled Letty in full view of a window facing the street.He probably still owed her a new bustle after that delightful disarrangement.
He’d just begun spiraling into orgasm when a vision flashed before his eyes: Letty working herself into a lather after he’d spent a whole evening with friends teasing surreptitiously under her skirt. She’d yanked down her bodice the moment they’d returned home so he could see her tits shake, then handed him a lovely diletto he’d acquired on his Grand Tour so he could hold it while she rode the thing, all the while grinding her little clit against the heel of his hand and anointing his fingers with her juices.
Thirsty,he thought.So thirsty.
She’d exploded quickly that night, then he’d pulled her atop his hips and let her ride his cock until they both peaked.
That diletto, dripping with her juices, did it know how lucky it was to be within Letitia Delemere?he thought.
Such a thing would slide back in her cunny so well, eased by pleasure. Why, it might even slide into her arse, so he might take her cunt and let her feel how many ways he wanted to fill her at once.
That diletto might even slide into a man! A man’s lucky arse, Letty’s slick juices easing the way.
And then he pictured her, her breasts shaking, but this time because she controlled that diletto while pressing it into his rim,her wetness allowing it to slide deep, fast, until he had to catch his breath at the sensation of suddenly being full.
Oh, he tried to stop himself from imagining things further and gripped the base of his cock until his knuckles grew lighter, but the pain-pleasure feeling only made that forbidden vision more delectable.
It was a seductive image: Letitia behind him, her small body working hard as she gave him that diletto in the arse. Anthony groaned the moment he let his hand run down his shaft again. The only thing that would make such an interlude better was if she was so taken by the experience of filling him she had to rub her cunt, the sound of which would reach his ears as he struggled not to come too quickly.
For the first time in ages, Anthony reached down behind his sack and pressed down on the flesh behind his balls. The moment his knuckle reached the boundary of his rim, he let out a yell the likes of which might raise the dead from the churchyards.
He was coming, his spine and nerves one fiery electrical conflagration, his fingers and hands working to prolong the pleasure. On and on he sprayed seed, each spurt followed by another of lesser volume but greater intensity as his body spent everything it could.
Anthony’s whole being felt wrung to the point of pain. He was shocked by the degree to which this fantasy took him, but it shouldn’t have been surprising; Letitia had always done that to him.
As he cradled his balls in apology for their hard use, he couldn’t help but wonder: if merely thinking of Letitia rogering his arse had him this worked up, what would it feel like in truth?
Chapter 6
Letitia used a borrowedhandkerchief to wipe tears from her eyes. Her things — including her monogrammed handkerchiefs — had arrived from the house she’d maintained during her tenure as Sir Francis’s mistress, courtesy of Anthony’s kind Buck friend, but Letitia hadn’t felt ready to sort through the only things she had in this world. The only things to show for years of suffering.
Luckily, the doctor had been prepared with a snowy square of fabric the moment she’d unburdened herself to him.
“That’s a good girl; better tears out than stored inside,” he said, his expression fatherly as she cried over what she’d experienced.
“Wouldn’t want to imbalance my humors?” she asked, trying to play the part of a clever denizen of the demimonde despite justhaving sobbed into her pillow while struggling to relate how difficult life had been.
