The Picnic

by

“More cream for your tart, dear Constance?”

Lady Emma brushed my hand with hers as she passed me the silver-clad tub of whipped cream, and I blushed—not only at her intimate touch by a hand that had known me to the depths, but at the tight little smile and the arch that had gone to her well-plucked eyebrows when she mouthed the word “tart.”

I felt so exposed. I had never intended to be in the combined presence of the two, and yet here I was, sitting in a small glade above the Thames at Lord Thomas and Lady Emma’s Caversham Park retreat having a civilized picnic during an interval in the annual Henley Regatta, and the tension in the air was palpable. Or at least it was in my experience. I could hardly breath—and it wasn’t all because of the tightness of the bone corselet or the heat of the day heightened by the billowing skirt and layers of petticoats I was wearing. Thomas and Emma, conversely, looked perfectly comfortable and in their element.

I had not meant for it to happen—not any of it—most especially my trysting with Lord Thomas. But when that life-changing event occurred, I had barely come out of mourning for my dear Trevor, lost in the Boor Wars at such a young age and leaving me with barely enough wherewithal to exist and certainly with no skills to improve my lot unless I could find an appropriate place at court or as a tutor or as a companion for another, better situated, widow.

It had been my first outing to Covent Gardens after two years of widow weeds—and I had always been so young and gay before I lost Trevor. Lady Helen, my companion for the evening, succumbed to the vapors with the concert barely started, and, it was foolish and selfish of me, I know, but I had stayed on at the theatre when she had withdrawn. I assumed there would be carriages available for the return to my nearby modest mews townhouse—and there may have been—but Lord Thomas offered to accompany me home in his carriage at the end of the concert, and I had no reason to refuse.

I was so young and naïve then. I had known nothing of Lord Thomas’s reputation or his arrogance and audacity. But part of the fault was mine, I must admit. I found Lord Thomas intriguing, even when viewed from afar and regardless of my feelings for Lady Emma. I should have enquired about Lady Emma—asked why she was not with him at the theatre. But I did not.

And he did not take me home in his carriage—or at least not at once. Not for well over an hour. His carriage furiously rumbled out into the countryside and then back into London. On a rural byway, where there was no one but Lord Thomas’s driver—and henchman—to hear my pleas, Lord Thomas took advantage of me in his carriage, cruelly, forcefully, and despite my gasping begging that he forebear, with no one there to heed my cries of violation.

I cannot accuse him of deflowering me, as I was a widow, and my Trevor, who had been highly sexed and—to my own enjoyment as well, I must admit—had claimed his husbandly right nearly nightly in our short time as man and wife. In fact, I ached from the absence of his more than dutiful cocking—which may have contributed to the ease of Lord Thomas’s victory over me.

Almost before I knew what was happening to me in that darkened carriage, Thomas had one hand inside my bodice and the other under my skirts and on my mound. And then for miles and miles through the rural roads, I was trapped between the carriage seat and his plunging pelvis, as he pushed my skirts above my waist and spread my legs with his hands wrapped under a knee and around an ankle and cocked me with a member much more filling and able to reach deeper inside me than Trevor ever had done. Lord Thomas was a master ankara escort cocksman, which I only later heard rumored frequently around court, and I was vulnerable and without attention for so long after a brief period of fully satisfactory lying with my young husband. And I am shamed and embarrassed to admit that I moaned and flowed for Thomas repeatedly in that lurching carriage while he seeded me twice—in separate channels. I later could attest that Thomas seemed to prefer the nether channel as being tighter and giving his cock more pleasure.

I refused to see him after that—for a full two weeks. But one rainy afternoon, he had tippled too heartily at his gentleman’s club, and he forced his way into my small mews home and pushed me down on my knees in front of him and made me give him suck before he carried me up to my bed and pounded that big, hard, ruby-red-headed cock inside me while I gave him every reason to believe that it was just what I wanted him to do. When he finished in my vagina and, having hardened again, he turned me on my back and took me in the other channel—something my husband had never done. I denied him nothing and cried out for the feel of his semen flowing deep inside me. Nothing made me more lustful for a virile man than the prolonged loss of the one I once had. And Lord Thomas had a commanding presence, a comely body, and an oh so insistent and masterful hard member.

And, I cringe to say, it was all overwhelmingly exotic and arousing for me. In those two weeks I denied him, I melted to the remembrance of his member working inside me and mingling his flow with mine after more than two years of abstinence. And I blush to admit that I especially enjoyed the close fit of his cock in my arse channel. From there the decision was almost too easy to make to accept his offer of a stipend if I opened my legs to him whenever he called on me to do so.

A young widow who has been raised in the gentry and finds herself bereft of her honorable support has to do what she has to do. Life is cruel and a constant danger for such as I.

If that had been all there was to that, it would have been nothing special or unusual. But my wantonness inside the lord’s household had already been established before that momentous carriage ride.

I have no idea what working of the humor of the gods had set Lord Thomas on me, but perhaps my having already been a tertiary figure in his vast household had set his ardor and determination in motion. I had barely met him before he assaulted me and made me a wanton woman, however.

The earlier connection had been Lady Emma. Less than a year after I learned of my husband’s untimely death on the South African battlefield, I was introduced to Lady Emma, who was taking a tour of Italy, unaccompanied by her husband, and who needed a suitable traveling companion. A friend who knew of my plight recommended me to Lady Emma, and I found myself in Florence and then in Venice, and then, no doubt as a result of the exotic and sultry environment of the Italian phallus-shaped peninsula and all those suggestive statues of naked young men, writhing on a chaise lounge just inside a balcony on a Venetian canal with Lady Emma’s head between my parted thighs and her tongue lapping between my labia and at my clitoris.

Again, my young, highly sexed Trevor had brought out needs and desires in me that had, in their sudden and prolonged denial, weakened my moral fiber and turned my head—and opened my legs upon clever and well-planned seduction.

Upon returning to England, Lady Emma had granted me a small stipend for the privilege of visiting me in my bedroom and disrobing and sharing a forbidden love ankara escort bayan with me that I increasingly took a full share in.

Thus, my dilemma when the invitation came for a weekend in the country at Lord Thomas’s Caversham Park retreat to take in the Henley Regatta, the shell-boat racing on the Thames. If I had known that I was to be the only guest, I would not have come despite my cravings and fatal curiosities.

“Strawberry, Mrs. Wilson?” Lord Thomas asked, offering me the porcelain bowl filled with the reddest, ripest strawberry’s I’d ever seen.

“Yes, thank you, My Lord,” I responded with my eyes cast down. When I lifted them to take the strawberry, Lord Thomas held my hand for a few seconds longer than necessary in the exchange of a plump berry. Then, as I watched, he took one himself and worked it slowly between his lips in a sensuous movement that sent my heart palpitating. All the time his eyes were watching mine, and he was undressing me with them—as slowly as he disrobed me before laying with me on those few occasions when he wasn’t in such high heat that he took me, like a dog, on the stairs to my bed chamber.

I turned and looked at Lady Emma, hoping beyond all hope that she was not seeing the possessing look Lord Thomas was giving me—but her eyes were on mine as well, and they had the same look of ownership and domination that her husband’s had. Then she looked away and I also looked back at Lord Thomas.

He was holding a strawberry in his mouth and Emma turned her face to him. She brought her lips to his, and they lustily shared the fruit, the red pulp dripping down their chins. I cast my eyes down, not wishing to intrude on this intimate moment between husband and wife, and I saw that Thomas had pushed Emma’s bodice off her breasts and he was cupping one of her pointed orbs in his hand.

I gave a little involuntary cry and lowered my eyes to my hands as they lay in my lap.

“Oh Constance. Sweet, sweet Constance,” Emma murmured, and she moved around to one side of where I was sitting on the picnic cloth and Thomas moved in closer to me on the other side. It was only now that I noticed that Thomas’s breeches had been unbuttoned and Emma’s hand was just now pulling away from his freed and aroused cock.

Emma turned my face to hers with a delicate hand cupped under my chin, and she gave me a sweet kiss on the lips. I felt a hand at the straps to my summer frock and my bodice being lowered to my waist and a hand—Thomas’s hand—was cupping my breast. His thumb and a finger closed on my nipple, and I moaned.

“Oh, Lord Thomas! Lady Emma! I don’t think . . .”

“Hush, hush, my dear,” Thomas whispered in my ear. “No need for pretense. I know you and Emma have been lovers. I have known since before I took you myself. We are able to share and share alike, we are.”

“Oh,” I moaned. Lady Emma was working on the lacings at my back, freeing me of the confines of my dress.

Lord Thomas snapped his fingers and muttered, “Champagne,” and a handsome young footman stepped forward with a chilled open bottle of the liquid. As he stood there, smiling down at me, in ready attendance, Thomas’s hands were working under my skirts and petticoats, pulling away my undergarments. I nearly swooned as his strong hands cupped my now-bare mound and I felt a finger enter me in search of my secret treasure.

I fell back into Lady Emma’s arms in a near faint, as Lord Thomas called for the champagne.

But he did not drink the cool liquid; instead, he tippled the bottle over my chest and let the champagne cascade down on my bare breasts.

And then both Thomas and Emma, one at each escort ankara breast, were drinking of the champagne off my heaving orbs and nipples. I was shuddering and moaning and, yes, sighing at the lips nibbling at my breasts and at the working of Lord Thomas’s meaty finger inside me, which had found the prize it was seeking.

Emma left Thomas to his devices for a moment, which were to raise me up and completely disrobe me and then to pull my back into his chest and bring me down into his lap, positioning my rear channel onto the great rosy bulb of his member. And I cried out and groaned as he slowly descended me on the full link of his mighty cock and impaled me to the quick.

Meanwhile, while the handsome young footman stood there beside us, at attention, Emma had unbuttoned his breeches and was giving his cock suck. And his cock was enjoying the attention and was acquiring a prodigious erection.

Then Emma turned her attention to me. Lord Thomas placed his hands under my knees and spread them wide and tipped my pelvis up on the cock he had staked up my arse hole, and Emma knelt down on her knees and placed her head between my parted thighs, parted my labia with her tongue, and fed on my inner sweetness while I gasped and moaned.

Emma raised her head long enough to turn and utter a command to the footman and then, as she returned her attentions to my inner channel, the footman approached her from the rear, lifted her skirts over her back, crouched, and slowly entered her and started to fuck her in long strokes. His eyes were on me, though, and on Thomas’s hands working my breasts as his hips went into a circular motion that permitted his cock to provide attention to every nook and cranny of my arse channel. The young footman raised his vest and shirt off his chest, and I moaned at the sight of the muscling on his body and how it strained and undulated as he pumped inside Lady Emma.

The young footman leaned down and took my lips in his and kissed me deeply.

He pulled away and smiled and his lips went to my ear. I gasped at his whispered, “Permission to fuck, Ma’am? Thou aren’t so, so sweet.” I was overwhelmed by the attention at the suddenly freeing knowledge that I need no longer keep one lover secret from the other. And having unclothed himself entirely as he was servicing the Lady Emma, I melted to the fine form of this young god.

I murmured my acceptance. And after the footman had leaned down and whispered something in Lady Emma’s ear, she moved her lips away from my nether lips and sat back on her haunches, as the young footman went down on his knees between my spread legs, Lord Thomas tipped me back on his impaling pole. The youth took his mighty rod in his hand and inserted it inside me just to the point where his bulb was rubbing against my clitoris, and he worked me there for some minutes while I watched his bulging chest muscles tremble with the effort and waves and waves of pleasure rolled over me. It was not long before I shuddered my surrender. At the point of my orgasm, Lady Emma took my lips in hers and swallowed my cries of release.

And then the young, virile cock was plunging into the quick of me and the strong thrusts of the young footman were sending my arse channel to rising and falling on Lord Thomas’s cock. Thomas bellowed in a cry of release, and he bathed in the insides of my arse as the young footman joined him in a victory spouting and I joined them in a second orgasm of my own.

A picnic never to be forgotten that sent me to paradise in waves of ever-heightened pleasure. Ever the while, however, I was speculating to myself whether I would continue to enjoy separate stipends from Lord Thomas and Lady Emma—when I wasn’t wondering how I could meet with the young footman’s glorious cock and muscled body again. A young gentry woman widowed and set forth in the world on her own must be every mindful of her future prospects—and not all of her needs were monetary.

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