Gender: Male Age: Secret Location: N/A
|Introduction: Bootleg: A Memoir Chapter 2|
Finally finishing up this series its been a long wait. Sorry for forgetting to put my contact info.
I'm looking for an assistant apply by emailing.
Chapter 2 -- The Choice.
Brant Everard was six months younger than I. I haven't seen him for years, but I remember him very clearly. He was tall, slender as a willow, and fair skinned. He wore his dark hair in ringlets and favored lacy collars and cuffs. With a simple handshake between my stepfather and his father, our engagement was arranged.
I was livid, but my opinion was of no consequence. The marriage was to end a century long feud between the two houses. Even Andrew protested the matter, perhaps from a sense of possessiveness rather than that of affection. Besides, if I moved to the Everard estate he'd have to go back to paying the chambermaid.
His complaints carried no more weight than mine. As the youngest son, he had little more say in matters than I did. I was to marry Brant Everard and that was that. "Pity that Brand Everard ran off like he did," said Andrew wistfully. "Now he was a man worth allying with. Not like that young pup that's stepped into his birthright."
I'd never met Brant's older brother, but I'd heard his story. Hot headed, passionate, known for being a bit rough around the edges, his primary occupation was apparently deflowering the peasant girls on his father's estate. It was when he began on the women on the neighbor's property that Duke Everard had put his foot down. There had been a spectacular argument, in which Brand had left home, never to be seen again. There was a rumor that he'd gone to sea, but no one really knew for sure.
The illicit relationship between Andrew and I only became more heated after my engagement. It was my way of getting back at my stepfather and Brant. It amused me to sit across from Brant and think, "Guess where your fiancée’s mouth has just been?"
"More cream, Georgette?" asked Andrew.
"Yes please. You know how I adore cream." I answered with a catlike smile that Brant didn't catch.
Andrew almost choked as he poured the thick white liquid into my cup. I watched it swirl for a moment and then commented on the superfluous lace spilling from Brant's cuffs. "I have a dress made with that same lace."
"Do you? It's very good quality." Brant, not being overly perceptive, did not pick up the implied insult to his manhood.
"Want some cream, Brant?" asked Andrew, his face very red with suppressed amusement.
"Yes thank you."
And so the days went by. When Andrew and I weren't having tea with Brant and baiting him into making a fool of himself, we were sneaking off into some remote corner of the property so I could suck him off. I'm not proud of it, but my forced engagement to Brant brought out the she-demon in me.
The night of my engagement party found me in something close to a rage. It was a warm summer evening and the air was heavy with the cloying scent of jasmine, assorted perfumes, and the sweat tang of hundreds of dancers. Brant was capering around the ballroom, trailing more lace than even I had on. Telling everyone felt ill, I excused myself for the evening. It was partly true, since Brant's presence usually did make me quite sick to my stomach.
I wandered up to the observation tower to cool off. I'd always loved that room, and although windows ran all the way around the perimeter, it was high enough to afford privacy. It was a simple room, but elegant, furnished with a table and chairs and four very costly brass telescopes that looked out in the cardinal directions. Above, the roof was a dome of stained glass, faded to opaque shades of gray, black and brown in the dark of night.
Looking out I could see dozens of bonfires below where the peasants were celebrating my engagement after their fashion. At least it made someone happy. Further away was the ocean, a sheet of black plate glass that reflected the eerie yellow glow of the full moon. A few ships rocked peacefully in the bay. I noted that one was a slaver, and considered that there was not too much difference between my life and that of the cargo. I just happened to have been born into money.
I turned at the sound of boots clicking on the floor. "What do you want? As if I don't know." I asked Andrew with a withering glare.
"I thought you'd be up here,” he said, sitting down at the table.
"Don't pretend that you care. I know you don't."
"I don't dislike you. And will you quit pacing like a wild animal in a cage? It makes me nervous."
"I am in a cage." I said darkly.
"Don't be so melodramatic. Did you expect to never be married off?"
"My real father would have let me choose."
"Then he was a fool. Women are not meant to make their own decisions, Georgette. Don't be ridiculous."
Angry, I started to storm out, but he restrained me with a hand on my arm. "Get used to the idea. This is how the world is. Any civilization that lets it's women have any voice in important matters is nigh to destruction."
"What do you think, Andrew? That you coerced me into...what we've done? I chose to do what I did."
"You are a woman." he said, speaking with a tone that one might use to reason with a child "It is woman's nature to please man. You acted upon your own instinct with only a little prodding from me."
"I chose it." I repeated. "Lately I choose to do it because I choose to make a fool of Brant. If I could get away with it I would choose to go downstairs and offer myself to the first man who wanted me. I would rather choose to be with a peasant than give myself to that....idiot. How about you Andrew? Care to finish what you started?"
I felt his grip on my arm tighten. "I've thought about it before. I'd love to put you flat on your back and give you a good long fucking. You, Georgette, are the type that likes it. Natural for a woman, but a bad thing if it goes unchecked. It leads to promiscuity."
"Come on then. Better you than him." My tone was almost challenging, daring him to do it.
"You with your dark curls and wicked black eyes. I'll bet you're one sweet fuck. I'm not sure I’m ready to cross that line though, Georgette. My father would be furious."
"But you're a man!" I exclaimed in mock horror "Surely you have the right to govern your own actions."
His face flushed. I reflected that his lack of authority in the family had always been somewhat of a sore point with him. He stood up so fast that he sent the chair flying. With a hand on each of my shoulders, he crushed me to his body and kissed me full on the lips.
This was a new experience for me, delicious and yet frightening. I was startled when his tongue first slid between my lips, but I quickly recovered and kissed him back with shameless abandon. I could feel him getting hard though the fabric of his pants. I deftly undid them, hastily tugging them down so they dropped to the floor. Reaching down, I stroked him until he was fully erect.
He lifted me off the floor and onto the table. I felt a surge of cool air as he hiked up my skirt, the white satin crinkling as it bunched around my waist. I watched through half lidded eyes as his hands slid up my thighs and parted them. Without making up my mind to do it, I frantically bucked my hips upward toward his touch.
"See there? Instinct." he said in amusement.
"Shut up and fuck me." I answered. It was a word that I never used, but it seemed to fit the occasion.
One of his fingers parted my close-cropped black curls and slid between the folds of my labia. I was already soaking wet. His other hand stroked his penis in an almost thoughtful way as he seemed to waver with indecision. I thought he might change his mind, but then he recovered. "The hell with it. But if we get caught, I blame you completely."
He pulled down the low neckline of my gown until one of my breasts was exposed. Leaning over me, he took one in his hand and sucked so hard on the nipple that he left a bruise. I didn't care. I was too wild with a mixture of anger and lust to care. I buried my fingers in his hair and pulled him closer. An impassioned whimper escaped me, a wordless plea for him to take me.
He freed my other breast and sucked on it, while he played with the opposite nipple with nimble fingers. I felt like such a slut lying there on the table with my breasts spilling out of my gown and my legs wide open. I could feel my juices flowing freely, coating my sensitive inner thighs. I was aware too of the soft rasp of his tongue on my breast. I wallowed in all the sensations that were coursing through me, savoring every one. There is no rush in the world equal to doing that which is forbidden.
When my nipples were as red and swollen as ripe strawberries, Andrew slid his penis up and down my slit, coating it in my wetness. When it brushed my throbbing clitoris I couldn't hold back a moan of pleasure. "Keep quiet." he warned, his voice low but demanding "Keep your mouth shut."
By then I was too desperate for release to care about his tone. I was in a state of such longing that it ached. A wry corner of my mind reflected that if he stopped now, I really would have to go out and find a helpful peasant. "Please..." I whispered.
I knew he had done it many times before, from the casual way that he took my virginity. One skilled thrust, a flash of pain, and it was done. Even as wet as I was, my body had never been invaded like this before, and he found it a very snug fit. For a few moments, I lay there with my eyes closed, and hoped he wasn't tearing anything vital.
It was a bewildering thing. I felt stretched to capacity, and it wasn't altogether comfortable. It verged on pain, and yet the pain was pleasurable somehow. There was an animalistic rawness to it that fed my arousal. I was alarmed slightly at the friction against my soft inner walls as he moved inside me, and yet the sensation of that friction made my toes curl with pleasure. I held him tight and whispered encouragement in his ear.
Andrew scarcely needed encouragement. His fear of getting caught made him anxious to finish quickly. No soft, romantic interlude for Georgette Noel's first time. Soon I could feel his balls slapping against me every time he drove himself forward. "Shut up!" he urgently hissed when I gave a little cry of pleasure. I tried to ignore him, and concentrated instead on all the strange new sensations thrumming through my body. I locked my legs around his hips, trying to pull him deeper, trying to wring from him as much pleasure for myself as I could.
He was pounding into me so hard that my breasts were bouncing up and down and the table creaked ominously. I tried to keep quiet, but a breathless moan somehow escaped me. Immediately he pulled out, and I almost cried from frustration. I hadn't had enough, and was desperate for more. But before I could speak, he'd pulled me off the table, turned me to face it, and bent me forward over it so that my soft breasts were flattened against the wood.
"Now..." he said, as he put one hand over my mouth. "That's better. "
Content that he wasn't going to stop, I spread my legs and arched my back, in shameless invitation. Now he was annoyed from the interruption and he rammed into me so hard that the table shuddered under the force. I dug my nails into the cracks between the planks in the table against the exquisite pleasure that shot though my veins.
I was very close my first orgasm when I felt him swell inside me and pump me full of his seed. He was just pulling out, thick white fluid clinging to the soft, dark curls between my legs, when we heard a gasp from the door. We turned just in time to see the hem of a retreating skirt.
"I know...it's my fault." I said sarcastically "You don't have to tell me."
Andrew wordlessly yanked his pants back up, and set off after the intruder. I was left behind to rearrange my dress and reflect on what had just happened. I was inexperienced then, and there was still much I didn't know. I had a hazy idea however that I had missed out on something important. It just seemed that Andrew had gotten more pleasure out of it than I had. I'd seen him climax many times...watched the feral look in his eyes, felt his whole body shudder, heard him groan in release as he came.
I thought somehow that I should have felt something more, although that wry corner of my mind wondered if perhaps women did not feel pleasure like men did. As Andrew would have said, maybe that was just "how it is". Oh well. It had been a pleasurable experience all the same. More importantly, once the story circulated, there would be no marriage to Brant Everard. I'd be in trouble, but really --- what could they do to me? But had I known that I had begun a chain of events that would land me in Bootleg, I would not have been so calm.
However I was unaware that my station in life was about to drastically change, and I felt smug as I headed downstairs to my quarters to await the consequences of my choice.
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