Rogeringham

Her moans were deep and breathy, she groaned with pleasure, and writhed her hips in my face. I wasn't the only one who enjoyed quim-licking, it appeared. By now I was ready to fuck again, so I got up on my knees and placed myself behind Helena, my hand still diddling her cunny.

Lifting her leg, I slid into her from behind her bottom, sliding deep into her quim. Helena turned her head back and looked up at me, her hand toying with my nipples languidly.

As I fucked her, I teased her clitoris, and once again she shook as her spend came down, shaking her body. Finally, I was ready to cum myself, I turned my mother over, so she was on her hands and knees on my bed - the bed that had been my father's, and I shoved my cock deep inside her, spewing man-jism into the mouth of her womb.

Helena was still of an age where bearing a child was not unheard of, and the thought of her having my son, appealed greatly to me. I think she could have cared more at that point, as she gasped and panted vulgarities and tore at the bed-sheets. I was happy, more than happy, ecstatic, to be there fucking the woman I had devoted my whole life to, but the possibility of breeding her with the child of the new duke made it even more delicious.

My jism shot, and her orgasm done, we lay down and slept, for a short while, entwined lovers, naked, with the bed-sheets half covering us.

With my torso uncovered as it was, Helena examined each and every one of my several scars. I reassured her that they none of them were of an issue any more but she spent several moments with her fingers on the still raw, red line that snaked its way along the bottom edge of my rib cage.

I took her hand in mine and kissed it, to stop her dwelling on what could have been, and we simply lay together.

In the baking heat and the choking Portuguese dust. I looked up at the French dragoon in his bronze helmet with its long black mane, his long-tailed green coat with the red lapels. Try as I might, I could not bring my sword up, as his sabre sliced towards me. Lancing pain burned along my side as I fell to the floor, and as I lay there, I watched as he raised his arm to stab down at me again, unable to do anything to stop it ...

"William! William!" Helena was shaking me awake. It took me a few moments to realise I was no longer in danger, that I was safe and warm and in London, in my mother's arms.

Her eyes were full of concern as she looked at me.

"It was just a bad dream, mother, a bad memory relived." I told her.

I don't know how long we lay like this but eventually I got up to use the jaques, letting my piss pour into the pot, only to look up to see my mother watching me. She needed to piss as well, so while she held the pot under her I walked over to the fire and stoked it up, placing some more coal onto the red-hot embers. As I took some of my father's walnut rub tobacco and packed the bowl of a clay pipe, I sat down and watched my mother wipe her cunny with a cloth.

"And what, may I ask, are you watching?" She asked me as she slid the piss-pot back under the bed.

I leaned over and lit a spill from the fire, and touching it to the tobacco in the pipe, I puffed on it for a moment.

"I am watching the most beautiful woman in my life, possibly even the world, who I am totally devoted to - taking a piss and enjoying every second of it."

Helena came and sat by me on the couch, still nude, and took the pipe from me, the smell of the walnut flavoured tobacco hanging in the room, as she took small delicate pulls of the smoke, exhaling those same small puffs, one after the other. I poured two measures of rum from the decanter and offered her one. She took hers and drank some of the measure.

"God's Truth, William!" My mother exclaimed as she pulled a wry face. "What is this?!"

"Navy rum, it helps me sleep. I prefer it to the geneva that others drink. It is strong stuff, so sippers only, mother." I smiled.

She paused, and laughed, "Look at me!" she said as she sat there, the pipe held in her left hand, the rum in her right, her right leg curled under her. "Here I am naked - pissing in a pot in front of my younger lover who is also my step-son, a lover who has treated my underused cunny to all sorts of lewd behaviour. And now I'm sitting, smoking a pipe and drinking rum like a bank-side harlot. How far have I fallen in just one evening?"

I took the pipe and drew on it, before blowing a smoke ring into the air in front of us. My mother's remarks took my mind off the nightmare. "Oh Helena! Beloved. That, tonight, was just the beginning. The world of the bed chamber is so much more than my father ever let you see."

Helena took a sip from her drink, and pulled a wry face at the taste, "How so?" She asked curiously.

"The Church would have us believe that sex between a man and his wife is merely for procreation. The man lies on top of the woman and does his business, God forbid that either of them enjoy the matter."

"And you're here to give the lie to that?" She said, taking the pipe back, savouring the richness of the walnut in the tobacco.

"I am." I told her solemnly. "Sex between men and women is a joy, when done right. A pleasure divine, diverse and interesting. With so many by-ways and hidden places to explore." I took the pipe back, only to find that the coal had died, so I stood up and placed it on the mantlepiece, drank off my rum, and took Helena by the hand.

Drawing her up, I led her back to bed. My mother had a roguish look in her eye.

"Allow me to demonstrate." I said, as I placed her on the bed.

I sat upon the bed, with the pillows piled up behind me, Helena sat in front of me, resting against my chest.

"And what are you going to show me now?" my mother asked. I just smiled.

I wrapped my arms around her, drawing her back against my chest. My spread legs allowed her to nestle in against my hardness, which fitted neatly between the cheeks of her bottom.

"Oh!" Helena exclaimed softly, wriggling against me.

"Concentrate, mother dear." I told her, as I took each booby and hefted them, enjoying their fullness as I gently kneaded them with my hand. My thumbs flicked her nipples, causing her head to loll back against my shoulder as she moaned.

As she moved against me, her arse rubbed my cock, making it even harder. Her moans were breathless in my ear, as I slid one hand down her soft belly.

"OH!" Helena exclaimed, as my fingers sought out her clitoris, teasing it out from under its hood. I slipped my fore and middle fingers into her wet, sticky cunny, coating them in her juices, before rubbing her clit against her pubis.

"Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!" Her exclamations were a rapid litany as I vigorously rubbed her to another jerky spend, holding her tightly to me as her body bucked and jumped. Her titty jiggled in my hand as she continued to spend.

My mother leaned against me, nuzzling my neck, "Oh William!" she said softly, lovingly, before exclaiming, "WILLIAM!!!"

My finger pressed against her clitoris again, causing her to jump in surprise. Once again Helena's body shook from her orgasm, and she pressed back against me. I breathed deeply of the combined aroma of her body, the dabs of cologne that she had used and the muskiness of my mother's sex. A heady scent indeed!

My mother's head lolled back against my shoulder as she finished cumming. "Ohhhhwilliam!" She sighed.

"I never knew!" She murmured. "Such pleasure!"

"It is simply my way of worshipping you, mother," I told her, emphasising the word mother. "A woman as wonderful, as beautiful as you, deserves no less than the greatest of pleasures."

I felt her chuckle against my neck. "La sir! Indeed, that silver tongue of yours never came from your father! So smooth!" She said, "And so skilful!" She laughed.

I cupped her smooth bottom in my hands and lifted her hips off the bed, sliding myself down slightly as I did so.

Helena gasped as I lifted and turned her to face me, and she grasped my shoulders to steady herself. But as she felt my hard cock nosing at the lips of her cunny, she eased her legs apart, allowing me to slip inside her.

"Guide me, William," she said as she looked down at me. "Show me how to do this."

"Have no fear. I shall take care of you mother." I emphasised the word 'mother' again, as I began to lift her and lower her down on my hardness.

"That sounds so naughty!" Helena laughed.

"Calling you mother?"

"Aaaaah!" She gasped, "Yes, as if we are committing an incredible sin."

"It only makes it all the more delicious, do you not think?"

"Oh God! Yes! Fuck me William, fuck your mother hard! Make me your harlot, your slut, your roadside bitch!"

"Mother!" I laughed. "Do you kiss your daughters with that mouth?"

"A pox on you, sir!" She laughed back, by now her hair was disarrayed, and she looked every inch a wanton. "Just give me more of this wonderful prick!"

"As you wish mother." And I began to fuck her in earnest, eventually turning her over again, this time lying her face down upon the bedding, with her arse up-raised. We fucked like this for a few minutes, until she stopped me, and turned around.

"Let me see your face William, this animal fucking of yours is indeed fun, but I'd rather gaze upon my brave lover."

And like that, in a more traditional posture we fucked until I spurted up inside her lovely cunny.

I was done. I lay upon the sheets, watching her in the flickering fire light, as she got up off the bed.

"I must go back to my room now; else my maid Phoebe will be there to wake me ..."

She lowered her face to mine, and kissed me tenderly. "Oh, my son, what wonders you have wrought this night. Debauching your old mother..."

I went to say something, to deny her age, but she stilled me with a single finger on my lips. "Do not worry, William, I shall be back." She patted my limp cock fondly. "And between us, we shall seek a way for this to work."

And she was gone.

Playing our lust out again in my head, I fell asleep.

5. Visitors and a walk in the garden

The next morning with all of my sisters once again assembled for breakfast, my mother and I behaved as if nothing had happened, except for one moment when she caught my eye and we exchanged one of 'those' looks.

From that I took it that she harboured no doubts about our nocturnal frolic, no misgivings. Certainly, I had none, and why should I? It had been agreed to by both of us, her for her reasons, and me for mine.

It was a long morning, there were several early callers, including a young man - Captain Augustus Fanthorpe, from the War Office at Horseguards.

He was an envoy on behalf of a Lieutenant-General Sir George Bradley, the general officer currently in charge of recruitment for the army. The news of my retirement had reached the War Office a day or so before my own arrival home. Normally the retirement of a captain from a regiment of lesser seniority like the North Staffordshires, would be of little interest to their lordships, and they rarely get a visit from a highly polished and flashily dressed junior officer.

But that changed because of my title.

There were people in the government who opposed the war effort, and I think Horseguards thought that I would be a useful ally, either in the House of Lords or just in general. Anyway, I was invited to call in to meet and take tea with Lt.-Gen. Bradley. I asked the young man to thank the general for his invitation, but I told him that I would have to consider it. I excused my immediate attendance on the grounds that there were many things in my own household that needed my attention before anything else.

Young captains, no matter how immaculately they are turned out, and he was a particularly shiny and well-polished individual in his dress uniform; do not argue with dukes, however much they would like to.

When he had gone, I asked that my sister Charlotte attend me. I was due to see Mr Barthomley, who wanted my permission to call on Hermione, at noon. On a whim, I thought to ask Charlotte what she thought of him.

"He is a nice enough, young man," she told me, "He has a good income."

"Do you think they would make a good couple?" I asked.

"He is sometimes a bit fiery," Charlotte said after some thought. I knew this, for he had challenged me, in my own hallway, not knowing who I was. "Though Hermione matches him blast for blast at times."

"Hermione?" I asked, "My sweet little girl?"

"Oh yes!" Charlotte laughed, "There is steel in that one that nobody suspected."

I was intrigued.

"Don't make the mistake of under-estimating her," my sister went on. "Her sweetness outside conceals a strength within. Mr Barthomley may be getting more than he bargains for. That is ..." Charlotte paused significantly. "... if a dowry can be arranged."

"I have already spoken with mother about that. There will be no further issues in that matter." Her eyebrows shot up.

Before Charlotte could say anymore, a footman announced the arrival of one, Mr James Barthomley, Esq., presenting me with his calling card on a silver salver. Charlotte took her leave and the footman ushered the young man into my study.

An hour later, I was done with my youngest sister's suitor. I sent him off to see Hermione, telling him that he would be welcome to call but also that we would soon be leaving London in the next few days to go to our country seat, Rogeringham Hall.

No sooner had he gone, but that there was a knock on my study door.

"Come!" I called and Charlotte's head appeared around the door.

"Well?" She asked.

I laughed. She sat down opposite me. "You could have warned me." I said, shaking my head. Charlotte had been right - on the face of it, James Barthomley was a nice enough young man, and when we talked about his background it appeared that not only was his family well connected but they had used those connections to good ends and profited thereby.

However, if I had been interviewing him for a place with my old regiment, the North Staffordshires, I wouldn't have given him very long indeed. His fashionably over-puffed attitude would probably have gotten him killed in no short order, and if the French hadn't done for him, he'd have challenged a fellow officer who would have done the job for them. Basically, he was a pompous twit, and an ambitious one to boot.

"I thought it best you discover for yourself." She laughed.

"Has he ever mentioned it to any of you?" I asked her.

"That he wants to marry the sister of a duke because it will further the familial connections? No. Not in as many words."

I moved to sit next to Charlotte, "This is going to happen a lot, isn't it?" I asked. "Many people will see you as nothing more than commodities, access to the family name?"

She nodded. "But that's why I said Hermione will surprise you."

I cocked my head to hear more.

"She knows what is and what isn't, but she sees it as an opportunity. She actually has him twisted round her little finger. He will do anything for her. She does not torment him, as I suppose some women would, but she owns Mr Barthomley as if he were a pet dog. And I believe she will train him as one would a wilful puppy.

"Does that please you, that news?" She asked suddenly.

"Well, yes. It does. Though I am certain she could do better," I told her. "She is pretty, and she obviously has a head upon her shoulders, so why should she not aim higher?"

"Despite his faults, she actually quite likes him," Charlotte explained, "He is intelligent, well-read, and he does seem to be able to learn from his experiences. And, of course, he really would do anything for her."

I nodded. If that was what Hermione wanted, then so be it. I then outlined to my sister what I had agreed with our mother, that all the girls should be provided for, though I did not tell her why I had agreed to it. This brought a smile, a close embrace and a kiss upon the cheek.

"But!" I went on. "It is too late for this Season; we must make ready for the next one."

As I have already mentioned, the 'Season' in London is an horrendous series of social extravaganzas that lasts five months from March to July, at the start of which the eligible young ladies of society are presented to the queen, and then paraded at balls, and picnics in search of suitable husbands. It is an expensive meat market, where even the meat on display shows a distinctly predatory disposition. Everyone concerned pays through the nose for the latest fashions, and entertaining, and of course, ultimately it would mean - if we were successful - that each of my sisters would require a dowry. This was what my mother had been looking for from me, and to which I had agreed. However, my interview with James Barthomley and my experiences in Spain had given me cause for reflection.

The next Season was not that far away - in the spring of the new year, it was time to head for winter quarters as Wellesley had done, to reform and prepare. The social season in London had already begun - it runs from December until the end of July, but I was less interested in that than I was in honouring my promise to Helena. In the country - at Rogeringham Hall, we would organise for the coming campaign, my mother would be head of logistics, 'uniforms' - ball gowns, that sort of thing. No expense would be spared. I also thought that we would indulge in a little training of our troops, my lady warriors. I would make sure that when they went into the field, when the Season opened, it would be the men - the prospective suitors - who were reeling in disarray and not the Rogeringham girls.

"Let us walk Charlotte, I must go to the stables and see how my mare is, and you can tell me more of your gossip while we do it."

This brought another hug and kiss, "I have missed you so very much William."

I kissed her back, hugging her warmly to me, "And I, you, too."

The mare had been carefully re-shod all round and - the boot keeping the abscess off the floor - was walking much better as we walked her round the stable yard, though still favouring her leg slightly. The head groom was of the opinion that the man that had shod her last time had done it blind-folded. The farrier that we used, had taken his time and done an excellent job of it. I agreed with the grooms, who felt that the best course was to keep her rested and let her heal. Eventually they would bring her out to Rogeringham Hall in a horse drawn box, where she could spend the winter. She would need room to exercise, which she would not have in town. In Buckinghamshire she could have that.

I was hoping that she would heal, she was altogether too pretty not to ride about the Ton.

After I had seen the mare, Charlotte and I, took advantage of the pleasant afternoon and walked in the grounds. While we walked, my sister talked.

I listened

My sister is not an empty-headed chatterer, which was why I had sought her opinion on James Barthomley. She told me things that she thought that I needed to know - about her sisters, and their hopes and aspirations. My sisters were not, as I had thought, devoid of male companionship or would-be suitors. However, not being presented and the lack of a dowry precluded any conclusion to the matter. That did not stop them from knowing what they wanted. Margaret and Louise, she said, would probably seek to marry twins if they could, being twins themselves. They were wicked, she told me, often when talking to a man, one of them would pretend to be the other and then they would turn about, the discontinuity in their comportment and conversations leaving suitors baffled and confused.

Charlotte was of the opinion that Caroline disdained the young men she met because she looked for someone older, more experienced. Charlotte was suspicious that she had someone in mind already, but she thought that it was someone not in our social circle, hence the reason Caroline kept it close to her breast.