Repercussions Pt. 02

He scooted closer as one in a trance, drinking in the view of her cunny. Without the obstruction of the pantalettes, the bewitching topography of her mound was appreciable. The little fluffette of dark curls scarce sufficed to provide modesty, for he could see the impudent curve of the underlying hillock, and the beginning of her split. Sitting back upon his heels to bring his head lower, he could also see the root of her clitoris. His hands were shaking with the urge to seize her, but mindful of her admonishment of yesterday, he placed them upon his spread thighs and leant forward.

The first contact of his lips was with the skin of her belly...a soft, slow kiss...he felt her shiver under his touch. From there his mouth traveled to the left to place another feathery kiss. Kiss by kiss, his lips explored the warm skin surrounding her cunny --- her belly, her hips, her thighs --- with his open mouth grazing lightly over her between each kiss. He wanted to memorize her enchanting anatomy with his lips...his eyes...his hands, if she would let him.

She trembled as he approached her mound.

He rubbed his nose and lips in her downy hair, then adored her sweet mons with more kisses. But he could not tease her, nor himself, any further. Tilting his head sideways, he rooted at the start of her nick, his lips pressing against her to spread the little notch and bare as much of her pleasure bud as possible. His tongue slid up the groove along her clitoris --- her upper body jerked slightly forward, and he heard her quick intake of breath.

Deliberately he moved his tongue back and forth over the small ridge of flesh...he wiggled the tip of his tongue...fast tickling movements...then slower rubbing motions with his head nodding. She writhed under his lingual devotions, her hands clutching her skirts, her breathing becoming progressively faster. He could feel her sensitive morsel growing fuller with his continued stimulation...he groaned with mutual swollen longing. Tickle, tickle...rub...rub. She swayed --- his hands reflexively reached up to steady her hips --- then a moment later he realized that she had made no objection to this liberty. He endeavored to keep his grip inoffensive as he pulled her mound tight to his lips and pushed his tongue further onto her bud.

Again, he found his cravings frustrated by her posture with her legs together. Oh sweet love! Let me do it! His fingers glided down the backs of her thighs to nudge between her knees. Open your legs, my Chloe, and command me to gamahuche you properly! But she remained unconscious of his fingers' prompting, and her legs held fast. Dash it all! She was simply too naïve to instruct him further!

Abruptly he rose to his feet, his hands simultaneously sliding up to clasp her bottom and lift her --- sitting her upon the edge of the ironing table. For a second, he stood between her thighs with her dazed eyes level with his own, then he shifted his hands to her knees and raised them towards the ceiling, compelling her to fall back upon her elbows on the padded tabletop, looking stunned. Continuing the motion, he pushed her knees up towards her shoulders, spreading them apart so that her hips rolled up. She gasped.

He gasped too: all her charms were gloriously laid bare to his gaze! He could see everything from her mound to her round buttocks...her clitoris, her rosy cunny lips, her pink bottom hole...everything! Her legs wriggled against his hands --- but before she could reproach him, he bent forward and showered her naked cunny with kisses. The kisses quickly became open-mouthed, sucking nips, which soon became a frenzy of greedy licking with his hands grasping her thighs. He had to touch and taste all her beauties!

Soon it became apparent that her legs were no longer pushing back against him --- her knees remained up and open of her own volition, and she was panting. With his mouth buried between her thighs, his eyes lifted to look at her. Her upper body was raised upon her elbows, and her upturned skirts were bunched between her chest and her knees. Above the hem of her gown, she was staring at him, her big eyes shining...intense. Holding her eyes with his own avid gaze, he lifted his lips slightly from her and pointedly fluttered his tongue upon her clitoris so that she could see it. "Ohhh!" she moaned in a whisper, her cunny bobbing against his moving tongue. Is this how you wanted to be kissed, my lady?

Grady checked his frantic hunger and now devoted himself to the thorough, blissful exploration of all the delicious attributes of her cunny...attuned to her response through her motions under his mouth and the sounds she made. His tongue stroked her clitoris from root to tip...how delightfully it was swelling! With slow circles of the broadside of his tongue he massaged it...he tickled it...he drew it between his lips to gently suck upon it. Soon the tip of his tongue traced back to her inner lips, running teasingly up and down the delicate edges. Gradually he insinuated his tongue in the sweet cleft between...lapping softly in the small groove.

She fell back upon the table in complete abandon, knocking her bonnet to the floor. His elation expanded with her escalating pleasure. Her hips strained in his hands, spreading her legs even wider and arching her pelvis up. Her cunny blossomed guilelessly...his tongue detected the increasing turgor of her bud and lips and...Oh God!...he now could taste her love cream with each swab of his tongue at the inlet to paradise. Likening this precious fluid to flowers or fruit could scarce do it justice. 'Twas indescribable...the primal taste and scent of an aroused female...a taste that spoke directly to a man's cock. Unadulterated by perfumes or powders, Chloe's nectar was fresh, subtle...intoxicating. His engorged cock ached with love.

Fusing his lips to her inner petals, he probed for her opening with the tip of his tongue --- he could feel the indentation but could not breach it. He raised his face and paused for a moment, awestruck at the splendid view of her little pink maiden toy, naked and spread, framed by her white thighs and buttocks. Her cunny was incomparably lovely to him...Nature's most perfectly petaled bloom: her sweet bud at the front was coyly peeping up...the slight puff of her outer lips was decorated with a lacy sprinkle of soft hairs...her dainty inner lips formed a tempting oval between. With the pad of his forefinger he touched her clitoris, palpating it...she was as stiff as he was, bless the sweet girl! Lightly he worked the tip back and forth, exposing her naked bud as he pulled upon the hood. She wriggled.

His hand seemed large and awkward in contrast to her petite plaything. Maneuvering carefully, he slid his fingers down, and with his forefinger and thumb, gingerly parted her turgid inner lips even further. He peered closely. The slippery crevice was blurred with her luscious honey --- he bent his head forward and lapped it up --- then looked again. Why, of course! 'Twas her maidenhead! In wonder he gazed at the membrane with its small hole for her monthlies, then bent again to kiss it tenderly. Even as he contemplated it, a pearlescent droplet of her fluid gathered in the opening, trembled there, and trickled down onto her bottom hole. Now he noticed the beauty of her second aperture...how charming her tiny pink pucker was!

His heart and cock were surging. He was beset by the visceral male instinct to penetrate her body --- to thrust his rampant organ into her. Instinct had overtaken her innocent body as well: here she lay before him with her legs wantonly splayed, arching up her swollen vulva to display her erect clitoris, her glistening nymphaea, her creamy orifice...all in a state of perfect readiness to take his cock. Oh God! If only...! He had to put into her! But, despite Nature's complicit urging --- despite Chloe's permitting him to take the liberties that he had, he could not...Christ!...he should not despoil this sacred symbol. But perhaps...No. Even his little finger could not traverse that diminutive hole without compromising it.

He licked his way back to her clitoris, resuming his oral attentions as his hands roved over her hips and up to the waistband of her petticoat. All over her swollen flesh his tongue danced --- bud, lips, groove --- sensing the changing motion of her body. Her writhing was growing more intense, more prolonged. Oh, how she pushed up to him each time the tip of his tongue tested her hymen! Chloe...Chloe!

So it was that unmitigated lust became the genesis of invention. Ever resourceful, Grady was seized by inspiration. Briefly he lifted his lips and applied a heavy coating of spittle to his forefinger, then felt between her buttocks for her bottom hole. She jumped when he found it. He fluttered his tongue upon her clitoris to soothe the shock of his finger's shameless inspection of her most private opening.

Well adorned with his spittle and her cream, the little dimple was slick under his fingertip. He marveled at the novel sensation of caressing a girl's anus. 'Twas so silky and delicate...but beneath that was the dense defensive ring of muscle. The motions of his finger synchronized with those of his tongue. As his tongue swirled upon her clitoris, so did his finger swirl upon her vulnerable pucker, gliding over the tiny pleats of skin. He massaged her with his strong tongue up front...and massaged her with his strong finger at the rear. The pad of his finger rubbed and pressed at the wet but resisting center...rubbing and pressing...rubbing and pressing...gradually feeling the subtle swelling of her sensitive aperture. With his persistent fondling, he persuaded the shy, tight twist to submit to his broad fingertip --- the first half inch had worked itself in and was stirring the slippery folds.

He was ecstatic at this development. Not only had she not reprimanded him, but his stimulation of her bottom hole seemed to fortify her pleasure. Her buttocks were squirming, and her panting had become quite chaotic. With his heart racing and his lips sucking her engorged clitoris, he straightened his finger and pushed against her opening. Push steady...push gently...the initial reflexive clenching against his intrusion...for a moment he feared he should have employed his little finger...then the yield. His finger penetrated her trembling, lubricated anus. He heard her faint whimper and saw in his peripheral vision her feet and beribboned ankles shaking next to his head. He groaned against her cunny and the anticipatory fluid wept from his cock.

Just shy of half his finger was in her bottom. 'Twas a most extraordinary...most exquisite feeling: so firm and tight, so hot...so unexpectedly sensual! He wiggled the tip cautiously, then began to oh-so-slowly slide it back and forth. He panted against her yearning cunny as his finger built momentum inside her. His tongue found her clitoris again and agitated it at the same time. Playing with her bottom hole was like playing with quicksilver --- mesmerizing and skittish --- as he soon discovered when her muscle ejected him when he drew out too far. He wriggled his digit back in and, having a better feel of her, established a soft, voluptuous, thrusting motion in the lubricious grip of her bottom. "Ohhh...ohhh..." she whispered, quivering.

He was overwhelmed with bawdy emotion --- her taste upon his lips, her panting in his ears, her body growing tenser and tenser under his ministrations. His tongue lapped rhythmically at her craving bud and his large finger stroked in and out of her anus. The muscles flexed in her buttocks and legs, and her pelvis rose higher and higher against his mouth...she was panting in short spurts between held breaths. Then her body went rigid. "Oh! Pray stop!" she gasped. "I'm frightened --- I shall burst!" But he did not stop. With one more flurry of tongue fluttering and one more thrust into her arse, he felt a compressive rush around his finger. He heard her smothered moan, then her bottom hole spasmed with powerful squeezing waves upon his finger and her cunny shuddered and rocked against his mouth. Oh my Chloe! My love! His finger gradually felt the waves subside --- her hips jerking a few more times. He continued to softly lick her until she went limp. For several moments neither moved.

Grady straightened in jubilation, his eyes moving over her, fierce with love. She had stuffed the hem of her gown into her mouth...it came out as her head fell to the side. Soft panting issued from her parted lips. Her eyes were closed, and the brush of thick lashes lay upon her flushed cheeks. She stirred, turning upon her side and bringing her widespread legs together. Her knees drew up towards her chest. She lay spent, her chest rising and falling with her deep, slowing breathing, one long glossy braid hanging over the edge of the ironing table --- even as his heart and stiffstander throbbed unabated.

Her skirts were still upturned, and her position afforded Grady with a most provocative view of her charms. Her round bottom was fully exposed, and his finger was yet impaling her glistening anal rosebud. Between her thighs, her pouting cunny lips were pressed together. Carefully he eased his finger out of her constricted orifice, seeing it squeeze shut behind him. He noticed a last dew drop of her cream well up between her lips and bent again to scoop it up with the tip of his tongue. The contact roused her from her reverie, for she suddenly pushed herself to sitting.

Her face looked radiant...and stunned. She slid off the table and feebly endeavored to repair her disarray. Grady, his trouser front jutting, bent to retrieve her bonnet. She nodded and murmured, "Mr. Woodbyrne," as she took it and turned unsteadily towards the door.

"Lady Chloe," he croaked, bowing.

He could see her figure through the lace curtains as she slowly walked out of the courtyard.

The next moment he had torn his trousers open and was fetching mettle, leaning over the ironing table, his face where her cunny had been, one hand flying over his swollen staff, the other gripping the tabletop. Chloe! Chloe! 'Twas but a few moments before his spunk rushed forth, christening the underside of the table.

*****

Lord Trimingham returned later that evening --- Edwin had remained in London. No command was issued for Grady to dine with the family that night --- thank God! 'Twould have been impossible to remain in possession of his wits under the circumstances. Giddy as he was with the flush of passion, he debated whether it was even wise to dine in the kitchen with the servants. By and by, the raw appetites of his body manifested themselves as an urgent hunger, and he chanced the kitchen.

Descending the stairs to the lower level of the mansion, he overtook one of the scullery maids carrying buckets of water hanging from a wooden yoke over her shoulders. She turned in surprise when he lifted the yoke off her from behind. "Let me carry these for you, Sarah." He balanced the yoke over one shoulder. "Thank you, Mr. Woodbyrne," she murmured and preceded him to the kitchen, where he emptied the water into the big kettle upon the hearth.

As was usual for the hour, the kitchen was busy with activity: Jenny and the kitchen staff were preparing the family's and servants' dinners, and many of the household staff were sitting at the long oak table and milling about, conversing. Grady could not contain a grin when he spied Calhoun coming in through the garden door. "I saw Mr. Calhoun kiss Lucy so..."

"Calhoun! How are you getting on, old chum?" He clapped the stablemaster upon the back as he crossed to the table, suppressing the urge to shake his hand and express his undying gratitude.

"Grady." Calhoun nodded and eyed him. He reached for the jug of ale and poured a mug.

"Calhoun, you're the master of everything equine...what say you...in a head to head derby between a Pegasus and a Centaur, which would you lay money on?"

Calhoun drank from the mug, his assessing gaze upon Grady. "Aye, but ye're in high snuff, laddie. What are ye on about?" After another swig, he nodded as a sly smirk came over his face. "Ye went into town this morn, didn't ye? Find yerself a cockish wench...get yerself sorted out?"

Grady felt a flood of heat in his face at the man's uncannily apt appraisal. He poured himself a cup of ale, conscious of the curious and amused glances of several of the others around them. Calhoun leant closer as Grady took a seat opposite him. "Who was it? The red-head at the White Lion?" He winked.

Grady drank and shrugged. "She's a handsome girl," he said agreeably. Henceforth he must mind his conduct...stop drawing attention to yourself! Fortunately, both the stew and the Scofields arrived at the table at this juncture and attention shifted to the meal. He managed to contain his happy thoughts of Chloe under a more reserved demeanor, inwardly grinning at the faint, bewitching scent of her girl cream yet on his nostrils and lips.

Striving to maintain the façade of normality, he joined Calhoun, Mr. O'Malley, and the footman Jasper at cards in the carriage house after dinner --- delaying the gratification of reliving the erotic events of the afternoon in the laundry chamber. The four of them sat at a small table in the corner of the open space, passing around a flask of whiskey to fill their cups as Calhoun dealt the cards. After several rounds of play and imbibing, Jasper turned to Grady. "You grew up on the estate, didn't you?"

"Aye."

"What can you tell me about Lady Chloe?"

Grady was instantly on guard. He picked up his cup and drank as he briefly considered Jasper. He had only recently been employed as a footman on the estate --- about a month, he recalled. Just a year older than himself, he was a lean, wiry young man, clean-shaven, with black hair and green eyes --- now regarding him with an eager expression.

Grady tossed a card upon the table. "What do you want to know?"

"Was she born a Trimingham?"

"I beg your pardon?" All three of the men had now paused to look at Jasper.

"Well...she doesn't look at all like Lady Trimingham..."

"That's her stepmother. Her own mother died years ago," Grady spoke tersely.

"...and she doesn't act like a haughty toff. I mean...she's an elegant lady, a proper bit of frock, for sure. But I've seen many fine ladies, both here and at my last position, and she's not like them. She's...kind... and she's quiet, not always rattling on."

Grady was silent, trying to conceal his irritation.

Unaware, Jasper himself rattled on. "I first saw her when the carriage collected her from her school last week...I've never seen such a pretty girl. What a corker!"

Calhoun nodded and drew a card. "She's a lovely lassie, ta be sure."

"Lady Chloe is a rare creature," Mr. O'Malley said shortly.

"I handed her down from the carriage...she took my hand. Of course, we both were wearing gloves...but..." Jasper held up his right hand and gazed at it with an expression of awe.

Calhoun glanced at Grady and Mr. O'Malley, shaking his head and smiling.

"Ye've had too much to drink, lad," Mr. O'Malley said.

"I've seen her about this week. There's a strangeness to her...she's got the morbs like...but she's not moping...she's a bricky girl, tearing about." Jasper took a gulp of whiskey. "I saw her smiling when she was playing with her cat."

Calhoun glanced at Grady, raising his eyebrows with a bawdy expression.

"I wish I could see her smile again," Jasper's eyes were nigh misty.

I as well, thought Grady.

"I'd like to make her smile," Calhoun said with a grin. "Oh to be a fine gentleman --- what wouldn't I do with her...mmm! Whoever her husband be --- he'll be the luckiest bloke alive who beds her."