Chamberlayne studied her face, his eyes soft and sad, as if he wished to say the truth: Lydia had returned to that man, even after he’d lost her to three officers, two of whom were in the room right now. Six weeks ago, when offered the chance to stay with the men, she’d thought returning to her husband would ensure she remained respectable enough to see her family and move about Meryton with her head held high.
But what Wickham was doing tonight was a far cry from losing her at a private game between officers. Word would spread like a spark to thatch. Her participation in polite society was over.
“Ah, Lydia, you’ll break m’ heart looking so sad,” said Chamberlayne softly. “We should play a game. Like old times. Something diverting.”
Lydia patted the dear man on the cheek, feeling many times her age. “I’m not feeling up to games,” she said, her voice flat. “Wickham is playing enough for both of us.” And then her questions burst forth. “Where does it end? His cruelty. Will he resort to offering me for threepenny uprights on the high street?”
“Now, Lydia, how do you know those words?” asked Denny, his expression stern.
“I read,” she said with a sniff.
“What kind of books talk about such things, hmm?” asked Chamberlayne, giving her a soft pinch on the hip.
“Books of a most educational nature!” she protested.
“Tell me about the education you seek,” said Denny lowly.
“Would you like to share what you’ve learned?” asked Chamberlayne.
Their aim was transparent enough: they sought to distract Lydia from those questions none of them could answer about what Wickham might do in the future. She felt a swell of something tender; they did not blame her for Wickham’s increasingly bad behavior. Instead, they simply did what they could to shield her from it. But for how long would they continue to look after a woman who couldn’t seem to look after herself?
“It was a very informative book! Moral, even, some might say!”
“Was it, now?” asked Denny, undoing a string within her bodice and watching as the neckline lowered before his hungry eyes.
“Yes, you see, a young lady is seduced and forced to enter into, well, she must sell herself. For her bread,” said Lydia, distracted when Chamberlayne continued his exploration of her thighs.
“Poor sweet girl,” said Chamberlayne softly. “How does the story end?”
Lydia struggled to recall. In truth, she mostly remembered slamming the book shut and throwing it towards the fire in a fit of pique when she’d read the tragic ending (only to pluck the thing out of the grate when she recalled some of the more sensual scenes she’d enjoyed).
“I believe she lives happily ever after and experiences untold bliss at the hands of several officers,” she said, lying through her teeth.
“That doesn’t sound like any books I know,” mused Denny as he tugged at one of Lydia’s nipples. “How about you, William?”
Chamberlayne stroked his chin as if trying to recall the tale. “Now that you mention it, Miss Bennet, I think I know this book!”
“Do you?” asked Lydia, taken aback that she’d somehow lied and not been caught.
“Yes, I remember it well. A tortured heroine?”
His fingers brushed over the seam of her quim, sliding through the slickness coating her cunny lips after Denny’s thorough licking.
“Yes, oh yes, that’s it,” she said.
“And then she ends up in a terrible situation. It seems all hope is lost.”
“That’s the one,” she said, holding in a gasp when Chamberlayne tested her channel with one of his thick digits. She bore down on him when she recalled the size of his impressive cock.
“And then her lovers arrive, and they make her cunny weep with pleasure,” he said, now working with Denny to pull the dress from her body and over her head.
“Pleasure…” she echoed, distracted by all the movement.
“Yes, and then she learns how to sit upon a man’s mouth and ride him to her bliss,” said Chamberlayne, gently directing her naked limbs with the help of Denny so that she was astride his chest before she knew what happened.
Her quim rested on his uniform jacket, one of his buttons on the nub between her cunny lips. It felt indecent to be undressed and have her legs spread so that Chamberlayne might look down and see her there — though Denny had been even closer.
“I wish I could feel how wet you are against my skin,” moaned Chamberlayne, his body moving as he bucked his hips, seemingly without realizing what he was doing.
