A lonely road, a broken down car, a lost woman. What could possibly go wrong?
This Victorian Gothic erotic romance is a new take on a very old tale.
And now for a preview of “Beast”…
The summer sun warmed Daphne’s skin, the smooth enamel of the automobile’s bonnet supported her back, and a tide of bliss rose in her body. She suppressed it, wanting to prolong the experience for as long as she possibly could.
Bert’s lips ground against hers as his tongue plunged into her mouth. He’d already raised her skirts and petticoats, and found the opening in her drawers. Now, with deft fingers, he explored her nether curls, parting them to discover her moist quim.
All this, while Wilf trailed wet kisses from her chest to her jawline, one work-roughened hand squeezing her breast and teasing her nipple.
What a stroke of luck, she thought.
Jeremy’s brand new automobile had broken down on a deserted country lane, and despite her best efforts to start it again, nothing worked. Two young farm workers kindly offered to help.
She’d been attempting to crank the starter motor, alone, on a sweltering summer’s day, and removed her jacket and blouse. Of course, she smiled to herself, it was their innate chivalry that had swayed them. After all, the sight of her breasts straining against the fabric of her camisole above the confines of her corset couldn’t possibly have had any effect.
Before she had quite known what was happening, she had four eager hands and two mouths exploring her ever-so-willing body. Things had worked out even better than if she’d planned them!
And now they were having so much fun, all three of them. Better, by far, than last week’s roll in the hay, literally, with her best friend Letitia’s groom. Daphne found fodder in strange places for days afterwards.
Letitia’s older brother had also been keen to deepen their acquaintance, but Daphne’s experiences with him earlier in the week proved to be disappointing, to say the least. His cock was on the small side, and as for finesse, it was distinctly lacking.
But these two young men more than made up for her recent disappointments.
A good, hard, country cock filled each of her hands, dew anointing each tip. Now she was working out exactly where to put them.
Soon she’d open the door of the machine, and encourage one of them—Bert, probably, his cock was the thicker, albeit a little short—to sit on the passenger seat. Then she’d straddle him, and ride him while she sucked Wilf’s longer, thinner member, ensuring it was stiff enough, and slippery enough, to penetrate her arse.
Thinking about it brought her close to her pinnacle. Again, she tamped down the urge. She would save her orgasm until both men’s cocks were buried deep within her body.
Wilf’s hand moved to her other breast, just as Bert slipped a couple of fingers into her cunt.
More, she wanted to cry. Three fingers, four! Your entire hand! Stretch me until I beg you to stop!
She knew her appetite was voracious, but all her friends were the same. When Sir Richard Francis Burton had translated and published “The Kama Sutra” recently, they all devoured—and discussed—every page of it. Especially the naughty bits.
Both her brother, Jeremy, and Letitia’s brother had mistresses in London. Daphne and her friend were unanimous in condemning the unfairness of their male relatives being able to have paramours, while they resorted to stable boys and house servants. Or, in her current case, farm labourers. But needs must.
Alfred, Daphne’s fiancé, had relieved her of her virginity before he left for the colonies. They were under no illusions about their mutual fidelity, or lack thereof. He wrote long letters from India and Africa, telling her of the local people and their customs. Recently, he mentioned a lovely, dark-skinned companion in Cape Town.
Once they married, Daphne knew she would have to behave herself until she produced his heir and a spare, but until then she intended having as much fun as she possibly could…
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