Her Lord and Master Page 3

  “You call that a kiss, my girl?”

  Molly licked her lips, wetting them nervously, before placing her mouth once more on the engorged, purplish head of his cock.

  “That’s much better. Now, have you ever had a stick of penny candy?” he asked. Molly nodded. “Well, then, pretend my prick is a confection. You must suck it and lick it like a sweet.”

  Obediently, Molly tried to do as she was told, only to wring a gasp from him.

  “Gently, gently,” he told her.

  Molly slid her mouth down on him again, and was rewarded this time with a moan, before sliding back up along the hard length of him. Encouraged, she continued, gliding her warm, wet mouth down around his shaft, trying to take as much of his cock as possible. He moaned again, and thrust his fingers into her hair, drawing her down on him. She gagged, unaccustomed to the feel of his cock pressing at the back of her throat. Thankfully, he quickly released her, and she was able to breathe once more.

  At his urging, she continued licking and sucking his cock, gaining confidence and experience as she went. Her untutored mouth explored his shaft guided by his gasps and moans, while her hands stroked and caressed his ballocks. Her tongue twirled around his shaft tasting the salty-sweetness of his skin, until once again, he thrust his hands deeply into her hair. She raised her eyes to look at him, only to find his head thrown back in ecstasy, his eyes closed tight. With a hoarse cry, he spurted into her mouth, filling her throat with his warm, salty seed. Instinctively, she swallowed, and swallowed, until he at last shuddered and was still.

  She pulled away, resting her cheek upon his leg while he idly stroked her hair. She basked in the unusual show of emotion, knowing she had greatly pleased him despite her ignorance. In this, as in all other aspects of carnal knowledge, she was an apt pupil. After all, her only security lay in continuing to please her master. If he ever tired of their dalliance, then where would she be?

  Though she would scarcely admit it, even to herself, Molly knew that she would never refuse a request of this man. Not because he controlled her employment, but because he controlled her heart and soul. Whatever he asked, it would be his. Secretly, Molly had come to love not only her master, but every torment he visited upon her, and there were many.

  London life had left the master with a taste for debauchery. One of his favorite activities was to tie her arms and legs to the posters of his enormous bed using his cravats, a practice that drove Plunkett, his exacting valet, to distraction. Once he’d secured her, the master took great pleasure in bedeviling her, stroking and suckling her breasts until she writhed beneath his touch. Over and over, he would bring her to the brink of climax with his hands and mouth, only to back away, leaving her unfulfilled, until she cried and begged for release. Only then would he consent to fuck her, usually hard and fast, bringing them both to screaming relief.

  Though he was often aloof and always demanding, Molly had to admit her master was rarely cruel. She could only recall one time he’d truly hurt her. He’d come home from a neighbor’s, three sheets to the wind and furious about his losses at the whist table. Though it was late, he summoned her and more brandy to his chamber. When she tried to gently dissuade him from drinking more, he threw her forcefully onto the bed. Pinning her down with his strong body, he pushed her nightrail up to her waist, baring her arse.

  Taking his riding crop in hand, he slashed it across her buttocks, causing her to cry out. Although his position atop her, not to mention his inebriation, caused most of his strokes to land wide of the mark, it still hurt. Matters improved only a little when, tossing the crop to the floor, he began to use his bare hand on her. Mashing her face into the coverlet where she could barely breathe, much less cry out, he spanked her arse until it was red and throbbing, leaving welts all over her buttocks.

  Then, gradually, his touch on her buttocks changed in nature. Instead of smacking her arse, he was now stroking it. His hands slid soothingly over her tingling flesh, and his weight shifted off her body. He slid his hand down the cleft of her buttocks to where her nether lips glistened, and dipped his fingers in the moisture he found there. Then, he stroked upward, rubbing her juices across her bunghole. After repeating this action several times, her arse was slick with her own honey. Still, she was caught off guard when he slipped a finger into her arse, probing her body. She felt a strange stirring deep within as he wiggled his finger into her channel, and a sudden relief when he withdrew his hand. The relief was only momentary.

  He spread her still-tingling cheeks with both hands, and then she felt the blunt tip of his cock positioned at the entrance to her arse. With a grunt, he shoved his way into her. Molly felt a sharp stinging pain as the head of his thick cock slid into her. He paused only a moment, barely allowing her to adjust to his presence, before easing his way inch by inch into her channel. She moaned as he sunk himself to the hilt in her arse, strangely aroused. Still, she wasn’t nearly ready when he began to thrust into her.

  Seemingly oblivious to her discomfiture, he buggered her soundly. At first it was painful, his thick cock stretching her with every stroke, but as he continued rocking his hips against her, she found herself thrusting back against him. But before she attain any sense of satisfaction, he began to make a harsh, grunting noise. He thrust hard, and Molly felt his warm seed shoot into her arse. After spending himself, he withdrew with a sigh. Then, he rolled off her, wiped his cock off on her nightrail, and passed out facedown on the bed, drunk as, well, a lord. All in all, it was not his finest moment.

  Thankfully, when he woke the next morning, his lordship had no memory of the previous night, so Molly was able to pretend it had never happened, except for the slight welts she carried for a few days.

  Most of the time, though, Lord Ashford was an agreeable master. He asked only for her obedience and her passion, and she was happy to give him both. Until a stranger arrived at Ashford Hall. And changed her life forever.

  Part Three

  Molly was in the servant’s hall when there came a ringing from the library. She eagerly answered the summons of the bell, expecting a midday tryst, only to find the master in conversation with his steward and an attractive stranger.

  “My lord, the new game laws…” the steward was saying. He broke off, as she entered the room and dipped the men a brief curtsey.

  “A tea tray, Molly,” requested Lord Ashford.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  On the way to the kitchen she wondered about the visitor. Who was he? Why was he here? True, her master had many interests, and there were many visitors to Ashford Hall, but usually they were familiar faces.

  A mere quarter of an hour later, she carried the tea tray into the library and set it down on the master’s desk. As she fixed his lordship a plate of his favorite tidbits, she covertly gazed at the stranger. Where the master’s looks were all dark and flashing, this stranger’s appearance could only be described as brown. He had short, wavy brown hair, long, brown sideburns, velvety brown eyes, and his skin was a golden bronze. His clothes appeared well-made, though not of the finest quality. His linen was plain, yet clean. Clearly he was not of the gentry, but his manner marked him as well-bred. Molly’s curiosity was aroused, and so she found to her surprise, was her body.

  When she handed the visitor his cup of tea, her fingers brushed against his, sending an unexpected frisson of desire through her. Then he smiled at her, and her heart leapt in her chest. He might not be as sinfully beautiful as her master, but there was something about this stranger that stirred her senses.

  By dinnertime her curiosity, if not her body’s hunger, had been satisfied. The servant’s grapevine had told her all she needed to know about the newcomer, including his name, Will Adams. Apparently the master had met him while in Scotland, on the estate where he was an assistant gamekeeper. According to Mrs. Hutchins, he came highly recommended and was to replace Old Jarvis, the gamekeeper, who was being pensioned off due to age. He would occupy a room in the servants’ quarters, until the repairs to t
he gamekeeper’s cottage were complete.

  Since he was occupied most of the day with his new duties, Molly rarely encountered Mr. Adams before the evening meal. At supper, however, he was always there, smiling at her from across the table. His ready smile was enough to send her stomach somersaulting, but she was careful not to do more than smile back politely. After only a few days it seemed, she began to look forward to dinner. When they met on the stairs or in the hall, he was unfailingly polite, but it seemed as though there was something beyond mere courtesy in his behavior toward her. In fact, it wasn’t long before the other servants began to comment on his marked attention to her.

  Molly knew that soon one of them would reveal her secret, and then Mr. Adams would want no more to do with her. The thought depressed her more than she would have thought possible.

  Late one evening, as she mounted the stairs to retire, Molly was shocked to find Mr. Adams watching her from the shadows at the top of the stairs. In the glow of her lantern, his face was dark and sensual.

  She nodded to him, and went to brush past, but he stepped in front of her.

  “Molly, have I given you cause to dislike me?” he asked.

  “No, Mr. Adams,” she replied.

  He loomed over her, backing her up against the wall with his sheer presence. “Good, I was afraid I had offended you in some way.” He braced his hand on the wall next to her head, his body uncomfortably close to hers. She could smell the scent of earth and forest that clung to his skin.

  He bent his head to hers. “You’re very bonny,” he whispered in her ear, his thick Scottish burr sending shivers up her spine. His soft, warm lips brushed her throat in the sensitive spot just below her ear, and she felt her knees go weak.

  “I belong to my master!” she blurted out.

  He pulled back, startled by her outburst.

  “You cannot mean…” His voice trailed off sadly. “Well, then I can only say that his lordship’s taste in women is as fine as his taste in everything else. Leave it to him to find a diamond amongst the coal.”

  Molly blushed at the compliment. She knew she was pretty—after all, hadn’t the master chosen her for her looks—but Mr. Adams made her feel beautiful.

  “I am heartily sorry to have bothered you,” he said, stepping back to let her pass.

  Molly felt like crying. She finished climbing the steps to her garret room. How could she feel so keenly the loss of something she’d never had?

  Following their encounter in the hallway, Mr. Adams avoided Molly for a few days. However, on Sunday, she was surprised to find him at her elbow, ready to assist her into the wagon bound for church. She couldn’t help but admire his long, lean form as he mounted his horse for the ride into the village.

  All throughout the sermon, Molly couldn’t help but steal glances at Mr. Adams, seated in the pew opposite her. He really was very handsome. She saw that she was not the only young lady in the congregation who cast longing looks in his direction. However, Mr. Adams seemed to take no notice. After the service, many of the same young women thronged around him, but Mr. Adams excused himself and caught up to her.

  “Molly, would you do me the honor of walking home with me? I wish to speak with you.”

  “That would be most improper, Mr. Adams.” In public, Molly always tried to protect the little reputation she had left.

  “Jane and Ralph shall walk with us.” He indicated the couple that stood under a nearby tree. She didn’t know them well. Jane was the daughter of a tenant farmer on the estate; Ralph one of Lord Ashford’s grooms. She could tell from the looks that passed between them, that they would be poor chaperones, oblivious to anything but each other.

  “I’ve already asked Mrs. Hutchins,” he told her, whisking away her next objection.

  “What about your horse?”

  “Romulus? I will hitch him to the wagon. He’ll be happy to walk home without me.”

  He’d obviously planned this ahead of time, and Molly was flattered. “Well, then Mr. Adams, since you seem to have thought of everything, I will walk with you.”

  Eagerly, he took her arm and escorted her over to greet the other couple. Leaving her to exchange pleasantries, he tended to his horse, and then the foursome set off toward Ashford Park. The walk was not a long one, and the day was glorious, and Molly soon found herself enjoying the outing. Jane and Ralph were obviously in love, and they spent most of the journey mooning over each other. Mr. Adams kept up a steady stream of conversation, skillfully eliciting opinions from Molly that she didn’t even know she had. Whatever it was he wished to say to her, it must have been of little importance, for he never mentioned it. Instead, he spoke wistfully of his home in Scotland, speaking so eloquently that she could almost see the heather-covered hills. For a man of his station, Molly thought he was extremely well-read.

  Molly soon discovered that Mr. Adams was, like Jane, the child of a tenant farmer, and was the youngest of five siblings.

  “How came you to be educated then?”

  “The countess was a great disciple of Mrs. Shelley’s. She set up a school for the tenants’ children. Then throughout my apprenticeship, I begged and borrowed what books I could from a generous curate. Now, that I am earning my own wages, I vow I shall spend a pound a year on books alone.”

  “I would love to be able to read,” Molly admitted. “I know most of my letters, but…”

  “I could teach you.”

  “Mr. Adams…”

  “Will. My friends call me Will.”

  She smiled shyly at him. “Will, then. I would like it very much if you would teach me to read.” They agreed to meet the following Sunday to begin her lessons.

  Before long, they had reached the turnoff to Ashford Hall. Here, Jane and Ralph begged to take their leave. Ralph would escort Jane home along the lane, while Molly and Will would cut across the park. Molly knew it was improper, but she couldn’t begrudge the young lovers a few moments alone. It was unlikely that anyone would see her with Will, and it wasn’t as though she had any virtue left to guard.

  They set off through the light woods that bordered the estate. Will, of course, was quite familiar with the terrain, and guided her expertly through the trees. They came to a clearing, and on the other side Molly could see Ashford Hall, rising majestically to the sky, its gray stone facade tinted pink by the fading light.

  “I hadn’t realized it was so late. I must get back.”

  “Molly, I must speak to you. I understand that you are not at liberty to entertain me as a suitor, but perhaps that will change. I am quite attracted to you. Please give me some hope that you feel the same.”

  “Will, it is as you say. I am not in a position to feel anything toward you. Now, I really must go.”

  “Say that you’ll still meet me on Sunday.”

  “I’ll still meet you on Sunday,” she called over her shoulder as ran for home, leaving him standing there in the twilight.

  All week long, Molly couldn’t wait for Sunday, though she wasn’t sure if that was because she was going to see Will, or because she was going to learn how to read. Finally, the Sabbath came.

  Once more, the oblivious Jane and Ralph were enlisted as chaperones. Will had secured a picnic lunch, and led them to a small meadow on the edge of the Park’s woodland. After finishing a hearty meal of ham, bread and cheese, washed down with a fine cider, Jane and Ralph decided to go for a stroll through the woods. Molly had no doubts what their “stroll” would entail.

  She was content to sit on the blanket Will had provided and look out over the golden meadow while he reclined on the blanket next to her, his hand propped beneath his head, and finished his cider.

  “Are you ready?” he asked her finally.

  “Oh, yes.”

  Will rolled over and got a book out the basket. Then he flopped over on his back and patted the blanket next to him. Molly scooted over next to him.

  “Lie down here with me,” he said.

  “I don’t think that’s a very good id
ea.”

  “I can hardly teach you to read, when you’re up there, and I’m down here,” he told her with a grin. Reluctantly, Molly laid down on the blanket next to him, her head resting in the crook of his arm.

  “Open the book.”

  At first Molly found it hard to concentrate on the letters with his body lying so close to hers, but soon she was absorbed in trying to make out the unfamiliar words. Will was patient and encouraging, and with his help she was finally able to finish a passage. She laid down the book with a great sense of satisfaction.

  “Good girl.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

  “I guess I deserve a reward then,” he told her with a gleam in his eye.

  Molly could read his intentions, but she couldn’t summon up the strength to object as he rolled over, taking her in his arms, and pressed his lips to hers. Her arms came up around him, pulling him close. She could feel warmth of his sun-kissed skin beneath the linen of his shirt.

  For once in her life, Molly longed to be free. Free from guilt, free from care, free from obedience and duty. For just a moment, in Will’s arms, she could taste that freedom. Throwing caution to the winds, she slid her hand down to cup his burgeoning erection. He nudged against her hand. His mouth left hers to nibble down her neck, inflaming her further.

  He pulled away, bracing himself on one arm, and looked down at her, his eyes glazed with lust before once again crushing his mouth to hers. His hand slid up underneath her skirts to languidly stroke her sex. His fingers flicked over her clit before dipping down to slip gently into her cunny, causing her to moan. She was already hot and wet and panting with need. He withdrew his hand, and slowly licked his fingers as she watched, appalled and yet fascinated.

  “I need to be inside you.”

  Molly agreed. Her hands went to the waistband of his breeches, unbuttoning the fall, and pushing them low on his hips. His rigid cock sprang into her hand, the tip already wet with his juices. She couldn’t help but make a comparison. Will’s cock was much longer than Lord Ashford’s, though not as thick. She had no doubt it would fill her nicely. As he pushed her skirts up, she spread her legs wider, welcoming the invasion of his cock. She felt its head brush against her clit, then he slid into her smoothly, until he was seated to his ballocks.