Memoirs of Lady Montrose Read Free

fingers had found her G-spot and she moaned with pleasure. When he withdrew there was a sense of loss, until he licked her juices and sucked her sensitive clitoris. Her breasts ached with the constant suckling. Should I whisper stop? Except, at that moment, she climaxed for the second time, climbing her peak in delicious, shuddering steps.
    She rejoiced in the experience of her mind filled with joyous tingles while her partners played their magic. Her spine tingled and she mewled in delight. She didn’t want it to stop…ever. Even when he sucked, enough to make her want to cry out, she clamped her jaws shut to muffle her shout of joy.
    Grabbing her hips, he pulled her off the edge of the bed and down onto his cock. The person above had released her breasts and held her firmly, supporting her body while the first man drove his long pleasurable cock into her wet, waiting pussy. Faster and faster he pumped in time with her own response, meeting her demanding G-spot. With clenched buttocks to hold him, she wrapped her legs around his waist then tensed as he lifted her. Would he now slip into her ass?
    “St—” She hesitated. Did she want this experience?
    “Are you sure you want to stop?” he queried, and gently parted her smooth labia, spreading the lips flat, then slowly lowered her again onto his hard, firm cock.
    “Not this time, Madam,” he said.
    Her flesh complained of soreness and she decided she’d had enough, but at that moment he shuddered and she knew he’d finished. In return for his expert attention, she allowed him to soak a moment before placing her hands on his shoulder and pushing him away.
    He eased her buttocks back onto the bed. His partner slid his hands under her armpits and manoeuvred her to a comfortable position. Those hands had been most supportive and necessary. Her breasts now felt abandoned and her nipples ached.
    Without a word, they withdrew and the door clicked close, leaving her to doze as she waited for the next phase to begin. Though not sexual, she enjoyed the pampering.
    The sound of water running breached her light sleep and she heard the bathroom door open. Guiding hands helped her, and she swung both legs off the bed to stand before she was led to the bathroom. She was lowered into a warm shallow bath and left to soak for a few minutes before soft, small female hands soaped her all over.
    Washed and rinsed, she stepped out of the bath to stand while she was dried with soft towels, dusted with powder then lowered carefully onto a chair. At the sound of two people leaving the room, she removed the blindfold.
    Helen noticed her clothes still hung where she’d left them, along with her purse, hat and veil. The navy blue suit, fine nylon hosiery and sensible smart shoes contrasted with her underwear, expensive and delicate. While in Brighton, she role-played at widowhood but Henry insisted her undergarments be luxurious even if her outer layers were demure.
    After dressing, she walked through to the small lounge furnished with a sideboard, a table and two chairs. Set out on the polished sideboard sat a fresh pot of coffee. Beside the coffee and cakes stood a decanter of sherry and a crystal glass. The smell of beeswax polish mixed with the heady scent from the floral arrangement. Too tender to sit, she stood to drink her coffee, glancing through the lace curtains at the passing parade along the Brighton beach.
    Autumn winds shook the trees and the sea looked grey and wild in contrast to the warmth and sated glow of her sex. The pier stretched out into the water like a shaft and the sea splashed around its base, sucking in and out. The waves stroked the supporting piles. Further along, the breakers rolled in, pushing the wooden piles before sinking back. Everywhere she looked, sexual images appeared.
     
    * * * *
     
    The next day, she took her sore body back to London. Henry laughed at her bruised breasts and red tender areas, then kissed them better, and listened to her detailed