Repercussions Pt. 03

Slowly did he draw out his fingers and push them back into her body. Her knees buckled. With his other arm around her waist holding her steady, his large fingers gently stroked in and out of her vagina and bottom hole, overwhelmed with delight to be stimulating both of her delicious orifices at once. How exquisitely erotic they were! --- the feisty grip of the muscular cuff of her anal passage...the plush tightness of her narrow vagina. The fluctuating compression of her openings and tremors of her body told him of her arousal. Her hands around his back tugged at his braces.

After such a night, even he was astonished to find his cock ready again...the force of desperate love expanding it impossibly hard. "Chloe," he said huskily, his lips upon her nipple. "Is your little cunny sore?"

"Mmmmmm."

"I'm afraid I must make it sorer yet, for I cannot help but fuck you again." Whilst continuing to stir in her snug channels, his unengaged hand groped between them to unbutton his trouser front and drawers, springing free his lust-addled staff. He withdrew his fingers from her wet holes and pulled his braces down. "Come here, Wood Sprite...come here," he urged. Grasping her thighs, he abruptly lifted her small body astride him...her arms and legs wrapped around him. With one hand gripping her buttock and the other holding his shaft, he brought her down on his rigid cock. "Ohhh!" she yelped as the broad knob opened her. Both hands now upon her arse, he forced her down and arched his hips up --- in one magnificent thrust his thick organ impaled her cunny to the hilt...her slick vulva sealed to his belly.

His mouth covered her cry. For several moments their lips joined as the wet straining junction of their genitals pulsed.

Then he began to move.

With his elbows under her knees and his hands on her bottom, he strode around the chamber, working her tight sheath up and down upon his in-driven pillar as she moaned and clung to his neck, her breasts sliding on his shirtfront. By the window he halted and pressed her back roughly against the wall, into the heavy folds of the velvet drape. Her scrambling hands found the top molding of the rosewood wainscoting, and she braced herself as he thrust into her, his loosened trousers down about his muscular thighs. The drapery fittings above creaked in time with his humping pelvis as her back slid up and down on the fabric.

Grady reveled in the sight of this wild little nymph riding his ruddy organ...bridged between her hands on the molding and his skewering cock...gyrating in abandon as she rubbed her yearning clitoris against his pubis. Again and again he crammed into her grotto of Venus...his golden curls meshing with her dark ones with each stroke...her breasts bouncing. The glorious wet sounds of his engine pistoning in her vagina mingled with their panting...thwip, thlap, thwip, thlap. Chloe's glazed eyes were fixed upon his...indeed it seemed their whole beings were condensed down to these two profound points: their eyes and their fused organs.

The primitive motions of fornication grew tenser and tenser. Her eyes rapidly focused, intent...imploring him. He felt the overflowing forces inside her. "Grady, I love you!" she gasped. "I love you!" Her body started to shudder upon his cock --- his hips lurched. Grunting, he crushed her into the velvet drape, lifting her several inches as his jolting staff bottomed out in her palpitating cunny, pouring into her every last measure of love and sperm that his heart and ballocks could give.

For several rapturous moments he held her against the wall --- her arms around his neck, her breasts pressed tightly to his shirt --- as the spasms of their organs and their heaving breaths abated. Holding her close, he sank to his knees upon the floor and sat back on his heels. Chloe, yet astride him with her knees on the rug, laid her head upon his shoulder. In agitation he noticed the ever-increasing light in the window. All eloquence fled him...even the Bard deserted him. He opened his mouth: "Marry me," he said by her ear.

She raised her head. Her expression was wretched as her eyes met his. Her lips parted ---

The muffled sound of a door closing down the hall jarred the silence. Their heads snapped towards the hall door, then back at each other for but a second. Grady shot to his feet, lifting her off his cock and jerking his trousers up and his braces over his shoulders. Darting to the side of the bed, he snatched up her nightgown and tossed it to her. He yanked on his remaining garments, not bothering to button his waistcoat or coat, and stuffing his cravat into his pocket.

Chloe had redonned her nightgown. He seized her in his arms, lifting her off the floor and kissing her hard, then rushed to the balcony. As he swung over the balustrade, he had one final glimpse of her, standing by the bed, staring at him, his last kiss burning on her sweet lips.

He half-climbed, half-fell down the ivy. Reaching the veranda, he leapt into the garden and sprinted for the servants' wing. If not for the surge of panic, his exhausted body and rubbery legs could scarce have carried him. Someone was opening the stable door --- Grady slowed to a more controlled pace, hoping 'twould appear he was merely on his usual dawn constitutional. Darkness and distance would cover the fact of his uncharacteristically elegant and disheveled attire.

A light appeared in the kitchen. He veered for the side door and managed to get inside and up the stairs to his chambers before anyone encountered him.

*****

Grady sat at his desk in his office. His ledger was open before him and a quill pen was in his hand. The sounds of the hooves and wheels of the carriage taking Chloe, Lady Trimingham, and the Countess to the train station had receded into silence some ten minutes ago. He had not ventured onto the front steps to see her off --- she had not come to his office to say farewell.

When he had returned safely to his chambers three hours earlier, he had undressed and, in the light, had observed upon his body the traces of their passionate couplings. The blood of her virginity encircled the base of his cock and his short curls were decorated with their love fluids. Loathe to part with these tender mementos, he had debated washing...but he was not so lovesick as to be ignorant of the fact that the scent of amorous engagement was readily detectable upon his person. He had bathed and shaved and dressed in fresh garments.

At his makeshift workbench, he had examined the gift he had constructed for Chloe. So excited had he been last night that he had forgotten to bring it with him to her chamber. 'Twas a pencil case --- slim, flat, with the hinges and latch salvaged from one of Lord Trimingham's discarded cigar boxes. The body was fashioned of walnut and upon the lid, he had inlaid in maple the initials "C.T." After a moment's contemplation, he had produced a scrap of paper and written in their code: For Chloe, I love you, Grady. He had placed it inside the case, then wrapped it up with a handkerchief and string.

When he had crossed the great hall to his office, the footmen were carrying down the ladies' trunks and placing them by the front doors. At a lull in the activity, he had hastened into the hall and identified Chloe's, slipping the gift and her book from his desk drawer into the front pocket of her valise.

Now he stared unseeing at the ledger in front of him, his mind in upheaval. Not even the remembered sights and sensations from the night of Eros triumphant could soothe his heart. He reproached himself for having slept so long, for not making his proposal earlier. She'd not had time to give her answer, but the expression on her face had sufficed. He reproached himself for leaving so hastily --- aye, leaving her to contend with the evidence of their shameless congress. Christ! He had not even given a thought to the state of the bed! Her virgin blood on the sheet...that might be attributed to her courses...but the spunk? In sorrow he envisioned her panicked innocence struggling to right the chamber.

And then to top it all, he had, in the exhilaration of love, lost control of himself and spent inside her. Three times (!) had his reckless, besotted organ overfilled her cunny with his seed. The repercussions of that madness remained to enfold. Damn it all, he thought wryly, his son might be the next Duke of Bradbury!

With that reflection, he found himself again agitated and bitter at his position. Why had last night even happened? After such a night, how could she blithely depart for her London debut? Had it had any significance for her? Had she been simply been using him...as a performing stud to service her desires, whilst disdaining his lowly personage as her husband? He threw the quill down and stood, wincing at the tenderness of his groin. Blast it! He would not remain on here --- there was nothing left for him here. Today he would tender Lord Trimingham his resignation.

Through the window, the serene garden --- Chloe's preferred home --- argued with him. His heart rebelled at the intimation of her callousness. The truth of her love was in every act, every look, every word...even before her impassioned "Grady, I love you!" Even in the misery upon her face at his proposal... No, he could not leave the family and abandon her with so many questions yet unsettled...with the repercussions of their actions not yet evident. If she persisted in the course laid out for her by her family, then he would, at the very least, stay until he was assured of her security. Should their illicit intercourse be discovered --- should she be found to be with child before her marriage was arranged, or should her aristocratic husband detect her despoiled maidenhead --- and she be repudiated by Society or by said husband, then he would be there to protect her.

He would stay until he knew she was securely settled --- then he would be compelled to resign. For Hell and damnation, he would not be able to abide the sight of Chloe married to another man!

Resuming his seat behind the desk, he appealed to the unsentimental simplicity of numbers to carry him through his work.

By the end of the day, he had changed his mind. He had not had time to present her a considered proposal...a proposal that addressed the difficulties of their situation. She must hear his plan in full ere she could make him her reply. They could elope...they could go to America...he had enough money saved for modest passage. He could make a living as a builder or carpenter, or if need be, as a solicitor or bookkeeper. Or they could remain in England if it suited her. His heart raced at his decision. Tomorrow morning, he would be on the first train to London.

*****

Five months later

Grady stood upon the deck of the steamship SS City of Manchester, leaning against the rail with his eyes fixed upon the restless, grey Atlantic to the north --- the coasts of England and Ireland long having disappeared behind them. No other passengers were presently about on this section of the deck, and he was content to have naught but the ocean for company. For the first time in months, he allowed his mind to roam.

.

The morning after Chloe departed for London, he was standing on the railway platform in Sheffield with a ticket for the 8:10 to London. He had packed his few belongings in a valise and left a note saying he was urgently called to the bedside of his ailing cousin. Excited twinges warmed his belly at the upcoming venture. His thoughts were interrupted by a series of muffled booms to the south. He and the other waiting passengers exchanged puzzled looks. 'Twas not long before a railway linesman was seen running up the tracks --- waving his arms and shouting. "The inbound train from London leapt the tracks! Dear God, come quick! Come quick!"

Grady and the other able-bodied men dropped their bags and raced down the track. The Hellish scene was a mile away where the track curved before a shallow, but rocky vale --- the massive carriages were thrown into the gorge, piled upon each other like toys...steam and flames were shooting from the overturned engine...and then there was the screaming. The next hour passed in a fog of blood as they stumbled and climbed in the wreckage, pulling out the stunned, the maimed, and the dead...smothering their horror to keep on with the grisly work. More people arrived to assist.

He and two other men were crawling in a carriage partly crushed under another. They had already extracted two children from this car --- God rest their souls! Under a section of incaved roof were visible the tumbled skirts and legs of a woman. The weight of the iron beams upon her back offered little hope for a rescue, nevertheless, Grady quickly tested the pulse above the protruding gloved hand. He shook his head at the other two men. Whilst he and a second man put their shoulders under the central beam, the third gently pulled the small figure out and turned her over.

He screamed when he beheld her pale face. Falling to his knees he scooped her shoulders up and endeavored to breathe air into her lifeless body. "Chloe!" he cried. "Chloe!" He checked her neck for a pulse whilst he wiped the blood from her forehead with his shirt sleeve. "NOOO!!" he shrieked. His embracing arms rocked her limp body as he sobbed into her hair.

"Let her go, mate, she's with God now." A hand tried to pull him up.

"NO!" he bellowed.

'Twas but a blur --- one moment he was pressing a kiss to her yet warm lips whilst they tugged on his arms...then he was pummeling the two men on the floor of the mangled carriage...then he was coming to, lying upon the railway embankment. He did not remember returning to Greystoke Hall, nor how much time had passed before Jenny found him motionless at his desk. She had led him to his chambers and had removed his bloody and torn garments, then had put a cold compress on his black eye and spooned tea into his mouth. The household was in such a state of shock that his absence from and return to the estate had otherwise gone unnoticed.

In the ensuing days 'twas learned that no one could account for Chloe's presence on the train. Harriet, Lady Eveline, the Countess, the other maids, the staff at the London house --- no one was aware of her intention to return to Derbyshire, nor of her purpose in so doing. All her trunks were yet in London --- the only item missing was her valise.

But Grady knew. He knew in his heart why she had been returning...'twas for the same reason he was going TO London. Thus, that day he died too --- his heart died whilst the corporeal remnant continued on by rote. He carried out his work, slept intermittently, and ate when Jenny put food in front of him. At the funeral he stood frozen at the edge of the assembly of mourners in the graveyard in Ashborough, whilst she was interred in the mausoleum with her mother.

When he informed Lord Trimingham of his intention to go to America, his Lordship --- now a broken man --- had regarded him blankly for a moment, then said, "Oh yes, fine."

Grady refused to believe that Chloe's death had simply been an arbitrary accident, and he held Lord Trimingham and his ambitions accountable for driving her to her desperate course. But he refrained from voicing his bitter reproof of the man. What purpose would it serve? Trimingham was merely a mouthpiece for a society that was equally reprehensible for considering girls a commodity. And in truth, Grady could not stop asking himself if the course of Fate would have been different had his own actions been altered: what if he had addressed her months ago --- or had kept a wholly respectful distance?

Before departing he had recruited his replacement in a former classmate from Cambridge and had instructed him in his duties. When satisfied with the new estate steward's creditable performance, Grady had secured his passage for America.

.

He stared out at the expanse of ocean. He knew not what Fate intended for him in America, and indeed, little cared. The singular benefit in the journey was simply putting England behind him. There would never be anything there for him again. He had taken with him the only worthwhile thing connected to the wretched place: his memories of Chloe.

The wind ruffled his hair. His gaze shifted to the parcel that he held under his arm. It had been given to him by Harriet yesterday as he was preparing to depart forever from Greystoke Hall for his embarkation at Liverpool. "The railway company returned her bag after...the accident," she had said. "It's been sitting untouched in her closet these months past. Last week his Lordship instructed me to burn the whole thing. I did as I was ordered, save for this --- I held this back." She handed him the parcel. "I believe she would have wanted you to have it." Grady had not the slightest inkling of what "it" was. He had regarded Harriet, wondering how much she knew or suspected about Chloe and himself. But there had been no slyness or insinuation in her countenance --- merely the same misery he was feeling. "Thank you, Harriet."

He had not felt prepared to open it until now. Wrapped in a linen cloth and tied with a ribbon, 'twas a flat, hard rectangle with yet some softness about it. Undoing the wrapping he discovered a cloth satchel with a shoulder strap folded around it. The memory flickered in his mind --- he had seen Chloe carrying it that last week at the estate. His attention was riveted on the fabric of the bag...'twas a crimson brocade with a pattern of dragons and fleurs-de-lis...and a more distant memory stirred. An empty bedchamber in the west wing, a game of hide-and-seek, Chloe and himself hiding under the bed --- a tender kiss. His heart beat faster at the realization that she must have sewn the satchel from the drapes that had been in that chamber.

With shaking fingers, he unfastened the flap. Inside he discovered a large leather-bound book --- and within an inside pocket, the pencil case he had made for her. Opening it he saw that she had placed her pencils and pastels inside...and tucked amongst them was the coded note he had put inside it five months ago. He inhaled sharply and raised his face to the sky for a moment. Steeling himself for the book, he looked back down and opened the cover.

'Twas her sketch book.

Slowly he turned through the pages of pencil and pastel drawings, his heart aching at the glimpse into her thoughts. Flowers and plants of all descriptions beautifully rendered. Her horse Lizzie poking her head out of the stall. Landscapes from various vantage points around the estate --- many of which he recognized, including Cedric's Castle. The square in front of the London house. Interspersed portraits: Edwin sitting on the veranda, flexing his riding crop between his hands. Harriet laughing with a corset atop her head like a hat. Harriet standing in the square in Ashborough, holding hands with a young man whom Grady recognized as the butcher. Her aunt Francoise on a paved river walk by an old arched bridge, holding a fishing pole and smiling. Mr. O'Malley, looking embarrassed but pleased, sitting on the riverbank at the swimming hole. Mr. Calhoun at a table dealing out playing cards. Jenny holding her little pet terrier. A young lady he didn't recognize, holding music sheets --- perhaps a school friend.

As he flipped through the later pages, he noted the dates on the drawings advance to that unforgettable week in April, and his stomach fluttered. There was a sketch of a bee on a flower growing in a rock crevice. A view of the gardens and house from Cedric's Castle. The cat Max lying upon the seat of the tree swing he had hung for her years ago. A lush rose in front of the leaded glass conservatory window. The walkway of cherry blossom trees...this tinted with pastels to illuminate the glowing pink tunnel. His belly tightened. Turning the page, he next saw the laundry courtyard from what must have been her vantage point in the oak tree. Staring at the image of the barracks with the laundry chamber and the rows of billowing, hanging laundry --- complete with her dainty chemise that had precipitated it all --- his heart began to thud in his chest.