His cockhead dragged over her cunny lips, pushing through the wetness from her pleasure, and glancing over her nub. Carter bent over her, showing his clothed back to the wall, so he appeared to be using Lydia with relentless force.
All the while, he held her, placing one arm about her belly for support and keeping a hand over the breast otherwise exposed.
“Now this is the part where you wail and beg for mercy, my dear,” he said, panting from his exertions and the toll of holding her pliant form.
He could have easily slipped into her sheath, taken his pleasure, and filled her, but Carter worked his cock expertly to glance over her aching cunny while not slipping inside.
His body smelled of sweat, a sweet, salty fragrance that mixed with the starch on his shirtsleeves and essence of cloves. It was the heady scent of possession and power, only compounding the bliss she felt at his considerate control.
“Carter,” she cried.
The major slowed his thrusts so he could speak. “Those men next door — do you know what they paid to see?”
Lydia glanced at the wall. “A lewd act? My…body?”
“They paid a shilling to watch a wife used most brutally by rough soldiers. They want a look at what the winner of tonight’s game will get over and over as he slakes his lust on your body.”
Lydia’s blood ran cold.
“We’ve taken measures to protect you; it is no accident we’ve staked your husband three times over so he might win. But those men next door are fighting over the right to look through a peephole so they might witness your distress.”
Her eyes flitted to that room and then closed as if doing so might shut out the terror beating through her head. She sniffed back tears.
“So when I say to beg and wail for mercy, I don’t want to hear a milquetoast exclamation suitable for teatime. Keep them watching; don’t send them to the door of this room because Idon’t know that even three of His Majesty’s officers can hold those men back.”
“Please!” she cried out, this time loudly. “Please don’t, please don’t hurt me.”
“That’s it, darling,” said Carter, rewarding her with his cockhead grazing her swollen bump.
“It hurts!” she yelled, her body bowing as she felt the immense weight of pleasure from the major’s unorthodox fucking of her thighs. “Don’t hurt me, not there!”
“Your plump little legs are squeezing me so well, sweetheart,” whispered Carter, canting his hips and driving home. What the men watching from the other room couldn’t see was how the head of his cock emerged from between Lydia’s legs as he ostensibly fucked her.
She yelled words of protest and resistance, all while watching his cock slide between her cunny lips and peek out each time he shoved forward. The scarlet head of his cock was mesmerizing, thick as he helped her through this unexpected trial.
For a moment, her balance faltered, risking exposure to the men next door. Carter gasped and righted her. “Apologies, my dear,” he said against her hair.
“It’s only to be expected from an old man,” she teased, knowing very well that Carter was not above forty.
“Old man, my arse. Blast, Lydia, the things I’d do to be back in that cunt again,” Carter moaned under his breath.
“Then do it, fuck me,” murmured Lydia, longing to feel his thick cock stretch her.
“Not yet, not here,” he grunted. “For now, put a hand on it.”
When Lydia faltered, he helped move her hand where he wanted, still out of view of the men watching from the other room.
The first time Carter’s cock drove into Lydia’s palm, she pulled away in shock.
“There, now, I won’t hurt you,” he said, directing her back.
“But what about you?” she asked, regarding his cock with trepidation as he thrust into her fingers.
“Feels wonderful,” he said.
Lydia glanced up and found that Denny and Chamberlayne watched them with heated expressions from their posts at the door. Denny had a hand on his clothed cock, and Chamberlayne’s breeches seemed to have a wet spot on the front near his still-fattened piece.
“Another wail, I think, and some begging,” coached Carter from behind her.
