The Medium

Lydia Hoyt-Moore stifled a sigh and fanned herself with the program from her friend's musical. Lawd, how I hate these insipid gatherings, she thought to herself, and adjusted her skirts. She smiled over at Dowager Meredith Rawlings, the matriarch of those putting on this dispicable show.

Meredith was looking at her expectantly, and Lydia realized she was supposed to react to something the dowager had said. "I'm sorry, Lady, it's a trifle stuffy in here, and I'm afraid I missed that."

The dowager patted Lydia's hand, and smiled. A bit too much for it to be genuine. "Oh, my dear, it's perfectly all right. We all have those moments at one time or another." She puffed up importantly, and leaned in as if what was about to be said was quite for Lydia's ears only. "I've found out my husband's secrets!"

Lydia leaned back, a slight look of surprise on her pretty face. "But ... Dowager .... Hasn't Lord Rawlings been dead nigh on six years now?" She frowned slightly. and pushed back a long streak of silver-laced black hair, nearly dropping her reticule on the floor.

The old crone's finally gone batty enough to believe she can see the dead! Won't Lucinda and Olivia love this tantalising bit of gossip!

The fan moved a bit closer, a tad faster now, gently rolling Lydia's dark curls back and forth.

Meredith waved a hand, clucking her tongue against her teeth. "Pish-posh, my dear girl, that makes no point at all!" She laugh shrilly and Lydia fought turning red.

Everyone in this room now knows that I've said something absurd ... Which, of course, I haven't!

"My dear Lord Rawlings, beloved Lloyd, spoke to me through a medium!"

Oh, lawd ... Not a medium! The old dowager has lost her wits ... Mediums are nothing but conniving little twits with nothing better to do than lie to desperate old women.

Lydia twitched her skirts, and began preparing her excuses to take her leave.

"Mmhmm, that Lloyd was a sneaky one!" Meredith said firmly. "And I now have proof that he was out catting around on me!"

One moment ... I smell a nice nibble here ...

"Yes, yes, I knew. All those years, I knew. He could have told me the truth, but chose to not-so-carefully sneak around with those little whores of his."

Not only demented, but a guttermouth as well!

"He has, Good Lord forgive me, bastards by these whores! Four by-blows! Can you imagine!"

I can, indeed. Mine has two... I knew when I didn't get with child in the first two years ... Ah, but that is neither here nor there. Back to the Dotty Dowager.

Lydia clucked her tongue, and patted the woman's hand. "So, what else did you find out?"

"Find out! Find out! As if discovering my dear, departed husband has fathered children with those ... those .... women ... Isn't that enough? The medium, speaking to my husband, gave me the names of these women, and where to find the proof of his little 'indiscretions' as Lloyd put them."

This pulled Lydia up short ... Real proof, hidden in the house? And never visited by this medium? She fidgeted with her reticule, thinking about her recent problems at the house.

I have grown low on money. And that damnable Andrew never denied hiding some of the money he got from his little ventures.

"So it was true, then?" Lydia pressed lightly. "And this man .. this medium, was correct in what he told you - What he got from your husband?" At Meredith's quick nod, Lydia leaned in closely, so as not to be overheard. "Would he by any chance be free to speak to mine?"

The dowager's eyes popped open wide. "My dear girl ... You think Andrew catted around on you?"

Oh, for Heaven's sake ...

"No, no, Dowager." Lydia shok her head. "I just miss him so ... Maybe this medium of yours could contact my darling Andrew for a time. It's not been a year, and we were married for twenty years ..."

There! Yes, dab at the corner of your eye, she'll fall for that! The old woman was always one to fall for tears.

"Oh, Lydia!" The older woman whipped out a hankerchief of her own, and dabbed at her own face. "I'll tell you what, two o'clock tomorrow, clear your appointments, I'll give him your card, and have him come over for an appointment."

* * * * * * *

The bell sounded, and Zechariah, the Hoyt-Moore's butler for more than fifteen years now, strode to answer it. He blinked slowly at the man on the steps. "Can I help you sir?" and moved himself to block his entry if uninvited.

The man fished in his front pocket, and withdrew a very slightly crumpled card. "Yes, yes, you can, my good man! I've an appointment with the Lady of the house ... Lady Lydia Hoyt-Moore is in, I was told." He smoothed back his unruly black hair, and his green eyes moved over Zechariah. His smile was slow and charming, even to the fellows, and he adjusted his black cravat with one hand as he motioned toward the house.

"Ah, the Lady's two o'clock, I presume?" Zechariah moved aside a bit reluctantly. He didn't like the look of this man. "Do come in, and I'll show you to the library, and alert the Lady to your arrival." He moved stiffly down the hall, and swung open the double doors, and told the man to make himself comfortable.

An overlong seteé was pushed against a wall decorated with paintings of the former Lords, one of the recently departed Andrew Hoyt-Moore hung over the fire place. The room was bright with sunlight, and the man took a seat in a chair near a table, and Zechariah left to fetch the Lady.

The medium, a one Jeremiah Dunn, looked around the room and walked over to the fire place, sitting down in one of the chairs that sat on either side of the man-size opening, and stuck his legs out, crossing them at the ankle.

His keen ears picked up the sound of swishing skirts, and the Lady of the house strolled in.

My, he's a handsome devil ... Far too handsome, really.

Jeremiah noticed how she straightened her skirts, and his eyes tarried on the heavy expanse of bosom that the low-cut rose dress offered. He moved, and stood to bow, kiss her hand.

"Would you like me to contact him now, Lady?" Jeremiah smiled again, taking a seat after the Lady made herself more comfortable on the chair across from him.

"And you are so sure the person I wish to make contact with is a he, Mister Dunn?"

What an affront! For all he knows, I'm contacting the spirit of my dear, recently departed mother, or wanting grief to be laid to rest at the passing of a child.

Lydia said bluntly, whipping her fan from her reticule and snapping it open in one smooth move.

"Well, Lady Hoyt-Moore, it is just a lucky guess, I imagine." He looked up and smiled into her eyes, and she appeared to melt at the straight, emerald gaze as so many women before her had. "It could be your mother, or an aunt, even a child." His eyes romed over her more freely, taking in the black assesories she wore; the reticule, the fan, the band tied about her wrist, even the roses in her hair. "You are wearing a lot of black, and so much black is generally accredited to the loss of one's spouse."

What an astute observation.

The fan moved a bit faster.

And delivered by such a confounding cad!

She smothered a soft chuckle and looked to the medium. "I do wish to contact my departed husband, Mister Dunn." She sighed softly, and lowered the black silk, leaving him an unobstructed view of her rosy flesh. "You see, he and I were quite close, and married for nearly twenty years ... It - it's just been so hard since he passed ... " She faltered, and let the words hang, not wanting to overplay the part of the bereaved widow.

I honestly didn't give a care of the rat hung, so long as he left me alone, and paid my allowances each month.

"Well, if you have the time now, my Lady, we can have the seance and you can contact him, and I shall go." Jeremiah shifted, stood, and walked over to a candle, lighting a thin cheroot after nodding her permission.

Lydia stood, and flicked her skirts as she walked toward the door. "Talk to Zechariah, Mister Dunn, I have other appoinments, but come back later this week, Friday, say, and we can conduct this ... seance then." And with a flutter of silk, she was gone.

* * * * * * * *

The curtains were drawn, the doors shut, and candles lit about the room.

Lydia Hoyt-Moore sat on a chair pulled next to the small round table beside the bookcases dressed in a modest, but alluring gown of grey silk, the sides of her hair pulled back in black and grey silk ribbons, leaving the streaked black curls to hang to her waist.

Jeremiah Dunn sat diagonally from her, dressed in a conservatively cut black suit, his cravat a deep emerald green that matched his eyes.

The two held hands in the hushed quiet, and their heads were lowered, focused on the small miniature of Andrew that sat on the center of the table.

" ... We ask that Andrew Hollingsworth Hoyt-Moore please contact us, so that we might speak with him, and be freed from guilt." Jeremiah said softly, and the table shook lightly.

Lydia jerked, and almost released his hand has he not held it in a firm grip. At a quick look, her voice melded with him. "We wish to speak to you, Andrew. Assauge our doubts and fears that you are here." Jeremiah's voice fell away, leaving her to speak the last words. "It is I, Andrew, darling, your wife, Lydia Margaret Webster Hoyt-Moore."

The candles on the table flared brightly, and Jeremiah's head shot up, and a gravelly voice issued forth. "What in blazes do you want, shrew?"

By all that is true and holy ..!

"Andrew, is that you?" Her voice was tentative.

"Who in blue blazes else could it be, woman? One of your many lovers?"

Oh, I never! "Don't say such a horrid thing, you awful man! You know I was true to you!" Oh, lawd, she was talking to a dead man through a living vessel! If her friends ever got wind of this ...

"You going to prove it, shrew?"

Oh, this is definetly that awful husband of mine! Well, he's got another think coming!

"I can't and you know it!" She huffed and shifted, her skirts russling in the quiet. "The medium will know, and your reputation as a 'good man' is ripped to shreds! I'm poor as it is - I won't be ostracized for your perverse actions!"

The grip on her hand tightened, and she tried to jerk away, but he was quicker. Her arm was pulled behind her, and she was pulled to her feet.

The rat! The damned heathen is forcing that poor man ...!

She was pressed against the wall, one arm against her waist, the other pulled behind her back. She felt his hand spanning her waist, moving up to roughly squeeze and knead her breast, and she squirmed at the contact.

Disgust! It has to be disgust ...The only other option is arousal and I cannot be aroused by such man-handling! I did not miss his touch .. I abh--

The thought was cut off as she felt his erection against her ass, unmistakably large and rocking against her.

She squirmed, and gasped as her breasts were bared, the ripping of the gentle grey silk loud in the quiet library. He roughly pinched her nipples, rolling them in his fingers, and she quaked as heat rushed through her, and she grew moist between her legs.

Her head bobbed forward as she fought the feelings, and he nipped her neck sharply, releasing her neck to grip her other breast, tugging the pointed nub of her opposite painfully.

She shivered, and his tongue delved into her ear, tightening her nipples further, making them ache even more, and she shifted her legs, feeling her lips glide easily against the other, she was so wet ..

He moved, and thrust her onto her knees in the nearby chair, pressed against the wall. She caught herself on the backing, and cried out softly as her dress was lifted, the cool air caressing her bare ass, and groaned loudly as he shoved two fingers deep inside her wet folds. "Mmm yes, wet as I like you... Beg me, whore. Beg me for my cock."

His fingers worked in her, twisting and thrusting, curling, making her groan and jerk, her knees sliding outward, pressing into the arms of the chair as she thrust her hips up, forcing his thick, callused fingers even deeper.

"Yes .... y-y-yes, please!" Her moan was harsh as his other hand came round and found her clit, working it roughly for a few seconds before his thumb slid into her ass, squeezing inward as he curled his fingers upward, clutching at her flesh.

As he shoved them harder, squeezed her more roughly, she came with a scream, clamping on his fingers, her juice gushing out into his hands.

She lay against the chair back, and panted heavily, not able to move, when she felt him behind her, her skirt pushed to the side, and felt his fingers withdraw from her soaked pussy, and she whimpered as he eased his cock inside, stretching her long-unused sheath.

They groaned in tandem, and he gripped her hips with bruising force, withdrawing slowly, only to slam in hard, and fast, forcing the chair to crush against the wall.

Her nipples brushed the rough fabric, and her hand fell to the arm, supporting herself as she pushed back on him.

Oh, he's thick .... and so long ... Longer than Andrew ever could have hoped to be ...

She gripped the back, and as he withdrew, pulled her knee up on the front of the arm, tightening her pussy around him, making him feel even bigger as he rocketed into her wet folds.

His balls slapped her ass with each thrust, and she tossed her head, then felt him wrap it around his hand, and tug it painfully. "Beg, bitch. Beg me to come." His other hand slid down, and curled over her pussy, rubbing her sensitive clit and holding her still for his cock.

"Oh please ... please make me come." Her plea was harsh, jolting, as he paused in the middle of a thrust, circling her clit, not touching it, and slid his cock in one inch, then withdrew.

She whimpered, and squirmed, trying to arch back, but his fingers tangled in her pubic hair and tugged her to stay still.

He circled her clit again, delving down to where his cock was half-buried in her pussy, gathering juice, and coming back up to circle it more as he thrust in just another inch, maddeningly teasing her, making her head thrash before he leaned down and bit her neck.

He teased her thus for several excrutiating minutes, making her whimper, whine and beg ... "oh please .... please... " She panted out, rocking her hips just so he'd tug her hair.

He bent, forcing her breasts against the chair hard, tongued her ear ... and rammed his cock in deep, pressing hard on her clit at the same time.

While she was still screaming her orgasm, he pulled his dick from her pussy, and thrust it into her ass, shoving his fingers where his cock had been and began fucking her hard in both holes.

She came again on his third thrust into her ass, drenching his fingers, and he jerked hard on her hair. She saw stars at the sudden pain, then his balls smacking against her pussy, his fingers working her clit and she felt him tense.

He tugged harder on her hair, forcing her head back, and he buried all four of his fingers in her wetness, his thumb hard on her clit as he fucked her ass a few more moments, and bellowed his orgasm as he emptied his thick ropes of come into her.

He thrust jerkily, milking himself of the semen until he was dry, then pulled himself from her body.

He righted his clothing after cleaning his cock on her gown, and walked to the door. "Oh, and Lydia? You'll never get my money. So give up now."

Lydia laid there dazed, weak from orgasm, her privates bared to the entire house, as the medium walked from her life, never to be seen again.