The Erotic Destiny of Lady Perstone

Chapter ONE

I was born The Honourable Clementine Bletchley, and even before I could say my own name I knew that my destiny was to marry well. It wasn't very long after I could say my own name that I realised an advantageous marriage was in fact only the beginning of my duty - I would also need to produce a satisfactory clutch of heirs to continue my well-born husband's lineage. I was an ambitious girl, and I never doubted throughout my strict and sheltered childhood that I would fulfil both these requirements not just with ease but with style.

Things began well. By the end of my very first Season on the marriage market I had no fewer than a dozen suitors. It was perhaps not a co incidence that my pick of these beaus was the wealthiest aristocrat of them all, Lord Perstone himself. Lord Perstone was young, haughty and handsome, with silver blonde hair and pale blue eyes. His family was even older than my own, and he owned half a dozen rather fine estates scattered all over the country. He was the catch of the Season, certainly. Possibly the catch of the decade. My parents were delighted when he showed an interest in courting me, and I was scarcely less so.

If I had any complaint at all about Lord Perstone as a prospective groom, it was only that he seemed a rather cool fish. My other suitors were all, with varying degrees of cunning and success, desperate to slide a hand under my skirt. I admit I encouraged them all to try. Not in so many words of course. A Lady would never! But it's amazing what depths of lust can be stirred up in a man by a coy glance here and a smouldering look there. One or two of the more audacious of the set were allowed an occasional frantic grope or passionate kiss, which I found rather exciting truth-be-told. And I grew quite proficient at detecting the glint of lust in a man's eyes, as well as the accompanying bulge in his breeches. I knew that amongst the older generation I was considered something of a Flirt. I prided myself on being something rather more sophisticated than that, though I was careful to retain my Innocence - technically at least.

Lord Perstone, however, never betrayed the hungry animal interest of his competitors. Not even on those rare occasions when we found ourselves alone did he attempt any liberties with my person. He paid me some elaborate compliments about my shining chestnut locks, my star-like blue eyes, or my milk-and-roses complexion, and we had some pleasant conversation, but passion never really flared.

I didn't care. He was a spectacular Catch and he had asked for my hand. I felt immensely smug as I swept down the aisle on my wedding day, and I waited with considerable excitement on my wedding night to be inducted fully into the world of sexual experience.

Lord Perstone never came to my bed that night. Nor did he make an appearance the next. After a week I was bewildered. After a month I was angry. I didn't know a lot about sex but I knew how heirs were made and it wasn't by abstinence!

I knew I would have to confront my new husband, but I dreaded the conversation. How indelicate. How embarrassing. How utterly galling. Really, it was downright ungentlemanly of him to force this impossible situation upon me.

Meanwhile, as my consternation was growing, so was my awareness of my new status as a 'married' woman. Everyone assumed I was now well and truly wedded and bedded, and matrons young and old who once would not have dreamed of discussing sex in my presence were quite happy to include me in their extraordinarily naughty conversations. In refined salons and in distinguished sitting rooms all over London, I sipped lukewarm tea and listened with rapt attention to talk of cocks large and small, hard and soft, and all the amazing places they could be put. I learned about prostitutes, and a shadowy world of whores and courteseans that apparently existed right alongside ours known as the 'demi-monde'. I learned about men who loved men, women who loved women, and even one notorious Count who (it was said) loved his horse quite beyond acceptable limits. And most fascinating of all, I heard about the lives of those married women who had already produced their heir and spare, and now considered themselves quite at liberty to conduct discreet affairs with whomever they wished.

There was one particularly glamorous duchess, well into her forties when I met her, who was well known for employing only the most strapping and handsome young footmen to serve in her household. It was rumoured she would invite two or three of them at a time into her bedroom. This story captured my imagination like nothing else. I lay in my (empty) bed at night, trying to imagine it. What did they all do? Did she surrender to them, let them ravish her? Or did she retain her aristocratic authority, and command that they lick this, touch that, fuck here? Did she take them all at once, did they take turns, did they have their own assigned duties when it came to the duchess's pleasure just as they did in the household?

I liked to slide my fingers between my legs and stroke gently the warm wetness there, thinking of her sitting at her dressing table, tying a silk blindfold around her own eyes then calling out imperiously for three waiting footmen to enter her room. Then, with her sight obscured, allowing them to approach and put their hands on her, fondling her with increasing ardour, caressing her breasts, tearing her night gown, parting her thighs, sliding fingers into her pussy, then her arse, then both, sliding an anonymous cock into her waiting mouth, then another into her arse, a third into her pussy, all moaning and fucking at once, filling and covering her with hot cum.

I told you, I had learned a lot from my new company.

Perhaps it was these fantasies that were to blame, or perhaps it could never have been otherwise, but as it was, when Trent entered our household, I took notice immediately.

Trent was the new Footman. He came from the country, some village in Yorkshire I was told. When reminded he could produce a polished London accent as well as any of the servants, but whenever he relaxed his consonants slipped away and he spoke with a deep northern drawl. He was tall and handsome, as footmen ought to be, with thick dark wavy hair tied back at his nape and laughing blue eyes. With his lazy smile and hard, broad physique, he was difficult to miss. I caught myself watching him whenever an opportunity arose.

He was something of a rogue, and sinfully charming. He was immensely popular with the maids and the cook, with whom he flirted quite shamelessly, but even the male staff allowed themselves to be rather grudgingly won over. I wondered if he was fucking any of the girls. I imagined him meeting one of them, the pretty red-haired chamber maid perhaps, in a quiet stairwell. I imagined them flirting, then touching, then kissing, then groping. He was so strong. He could easily lift her right up, let her wrap her slender legs around his waist and slide his long cock into her pussy. He could fuck her right there, standing up, his arms supporting her bottom, plunging deep inside her.

I felt quite furious with the poor red-haired chamber maid for about a day, before rationality reasserted itself. I turned my fury on myself. I was the Lady of the House, the Lady Perstone no less. It was beneath me to lust so voraciously after a mere footman, and to be jealous of a common chamber maid.

But lust I did.

We could not converse, of course. A Lady does not keep company with her servants. But I had already learned well the lesson that the most interesting communications generally take place without words. It took a lot of willpower not to engage Trent in the delicious games I had played with my erstwhile suitors, and I admit I sometimes slipped. You see, I knew he noticed me. It was... gratifying... to catch his eyes upon me when I descended the grand staircase of our townhouse on my way to some glamorous ball or other. I could never resist casting him a glance as I passed, with just the right balance of knowing humour and sultry invitation in my eyes. I was too accomplished a Flirt to miss the answering flare of sexual desire in his, but to his credit he hid it well. He knew his place as I knew mine.

Things came to a head when I caught myself watching him from a first floor window as he skipped down the front stairs of the townhouse, off on some errand or other, and actually reaching out and touching the glass with my fingertips in my yearning to touch those broad shoulders, and cup that firm arse. I shook my head firmly. I was still only half way to achieving my whole life's goal - I had quite outdone myself in capturing the Lord Perstone. But my purpose would never be achieved if I didn't take some kind of initiative in luring my husband to my bed. An affair with a footman was a delightful fantasy, but it would have to remain only that until a parcel legitimate heirs had been dutifully presented. Even my scandalous duchess had observed that crucial rule.

I began to study my husband even more closely than I had studied the delicious Trent. He didn't provide me with many opportunities. In the manner of many fashionable couples with busy social lives, our paths only occasionally seemed to cross. Our evenings were a total whirl, both of us keeping company with our own sets of friends and cronies, so I decided to try cornering Lord Perstone at the breakfast table. He tended not to make an appearance there until 11am at the earliest, and seemed quite surprised to find me waiting for him.

His eyebrows lifted in cool enquiry, but he simply said, "Lady Perstone. Good morning." And took his seat.

I opened my mouth to reply, planning to draw him out as much as I could in an effort to discover what it took to arouse him. I had tried similar tactics before, without much success. My husband was apparently intensely private, and perhaps rather prudish, since any attempt to steer the conversation toward matters of the bedroom were quite firmly rebuffed. This time however my determination was renewed.

I had, as I say, opened my mouth to begin my calculatedly casual interrogation, when I noticed something extraordinary. Trent had entered the breakfast room, and was approaching the table with a silver coffee jug to pour Lord Perstone's morning beverage. At his approach, I saw my husband's already rigid spine straighten slightly, and his head turn tensely in the footman's direction. Trent poured the coffee in silence, making eye contact with neither of us, then withdrew smoothly as a good servant should. My husband, however, followed his every move with his eyes. His expression did not change, he looked as cold and reserved as ever. But those cool blue eyes that I had seldom seen register any emotion at all were suddenly aflame with intense awareness.

I knew that look. I knew it well. It was lust, pure and unadulterated.

I shut my mouth with an audible snap. In a blinding epiphany I understood why my husband had not visited my bed, why he blocked my attempt to discuss our sex lives, why he presented such a reserved and cold exterior to the world.

My husband was one of Those Men, the ones I had heard about only recently, the ones who only liked to put their cocks in other men. And we were both in lust with the same bloody man!

I actually laughed aloud, a bitter and incredulous shout.

"Are you quite well, Lady Perstone?" Lord Perstone drawled.

"No," I replied firmly, "I feel rather lightheaded suddenly, and I think I will retire for a few hours. I do need to talk to you, however. If you please will you visit me in my room at two?"

He frowned, and I could tell he was about to offer some excuse.

"It is very important, my Lord." My tone brooked no argument.

And after only the briefest hesitation, he gravely agreed that he would come.

Chapter TWO

I spent the three hours reprieve I had allowed myself pacing my room and thinking furiously. This was a terrible blow to my life's plan. What good was the finest match in the land if he couldn't keep up his side of the arrangement and put babies inside me? I wasted little time wondering why he had married me when his tastes did not even lean toward women. A man in his position had to marry someone, it was expected. Presumably any well-bred little debutante would have done just as well as me. This was a blow to my considerable pride, but that wound would heal.

Nor did I worry particularly that my husband would presumably never love me. I had never expected more than fondness and respect from marriage. But I HAD expected he would occasionally climb into bed with me and fuck me roundly! Was it too much to ask? Was it?

I had no idea how deeply his preferences were rooted. Was I, as a woman, capable of arousing him at all? What if I did nothing for him? What if he was even repulsed by me? That would never do!

Thinking rationally though, I reasoned I could not possibly be the only one in our marriage who had considered the issue of, well, issue. I knew my husband was a proud man, and his lineage was ancient. Producing an heir of his own loins was surely as important to him as it was to me. Surely he had not simply given up on the idea? Perhaps his determined absence from my bed meant that that was exactly what he had done?

Well, I was not giving up, not now, not ever. I would produce a sound collection of healthy sons born of my husband's line or die trying. It was what I had been born to do and by God I was going to do it well. Also, at the back of my mind, righteously suppressed at this moment, was a tiny voice reminding me that once I did, I would be at liberty to seek pleasure where I liked. In the arms of a well-muscled and charming country boy from Yorkshire, even.

A frank discussion was clearly needed. Lord Perstone would not like it, I knew, but he must be made to see that if he wanted heirs we would have to work together to make it happen. And at the very moment I heard his sharp rap on my door, I had the most wonderful, outrageous idea.

"Come in!" I called immediately, buoyed by my sudden excitement.

He entered and shut the door carefully behind him. He always did everything in such a careful, controlled way, I noticed. I hoped wickedly that my plan would finally find a way to shatter that maddeningly calm facade.

"You wanted to see me, Lady Perstone?" He asked politely.

"Do you want heirs?" I demanded abruptly.

He looked pained. "I was afraid you would want to discuss this."

"But not surprised, I hope. I recognise this is an indelicate subject for me to pursue but I do not apologise for my bluntness, I think it is long past time we spoke plainly with each other. You are not attracted to me, I think?"

"My dear, you are extraordinarily beautiful. I have always thought so."

I considered him carefully. "I know I am beautiful," I said slowly, without (much) vanity. "And so I believe you when you tell me. But I think I am no more than a vase or a painting you. Something lovely to keep in your house, something you own for compatriots to admire."

He seemed taken aback by my sudden foray into amateur psychiatry, and hastened to offer polite disclaimers. I waved his words away impatiently. "Yes, yes, but do you DESIRE me? I do not ask to satisfy my vanity, I ask for very practical reasons of dynastic reproduction! Can you look at me and be aroused? Enough to bed me? Enough to put a child in me?"

Lord Perstone looked rather ashen, and sat down heavily on the foot of my bed. I took pity on him, and sat down beside him, putting my gently hands over his clenched ones. It was the closest we had ever been, physically or mentally. Which was saying something.

"You DO want children, don't you." I said softly.

He nodded. "Of course I do. Of course I bloody do. But Clementine - " he said my name! It was a small thing but it pleased me greatly to hear it " - Clementine, it's not that simple for me. There's something I have to tell you and... I hope you won't be too disgusted with me. But you're right, I've avoided it long enough and it's past time to speak frankly. The thing is.. ever since school... Perhaps even before that ..."

I had to put the poor man out of his misery.

"For goodness sake, my Lord, you like Men. It's not unheard of. Certainly I wish you'd mentioned it before you went to my father for my hand, but I can see why you decided not to bring it up! Anyway, I didn't ask you here to recriminate, which will get us precisely nowhere. I asked you here so that we can decide together what is to be done!"

He was looking at me in dumb astonishment. "But - you knew?"

"I worked it out." I didn't mention that I had only had my revelation three hours earlier.

"And - you're not repulsed?"

That did surprise me. It had not actually occurred to me to be repulsed. Angry, yes, at the unfair position he had placed me in. But not repulsed. "Why should I be? I happen to think men are quite delightful temptations. Who am I to judge a person for feeling the same?"

He smiled weakly at that, and I loved that I had managed to make him. He smiled so infrequently.

But back to business. "So, we both want children. How are we going to accomplish it? I have a feeling, please tell me if I'm mistaken, than a woman's body does nothing for you."

He shrugged unhappily. "A little. I do find women beautiful. But you're right, it's largely aesthetic. And - as soon as I have any difficulty with my erection I immediately worry that the woman I'm with is judging me, that she sees through me, that she knows about the men... and that's it for me, I'm far too anxious then to carry on."

"But I DO know about the other men. And I don't mind. So you could come to me sometimes and not have to worry about that at all. Do you think that would help?"

He looked consideringly at me for a moment.

"Could you take off your clothes, Clementine?" He asked suddenly.

I jerked back in surprise. "R - really?" I stuttered. And I never stutter.

He was looking at me intensely. "If you wouldn't mind."

Quite frankly, once I was over the initial shock, I was delighted by the request. After months of drought any interest at all was happily welcome. I stood slowly and began unbuttoning the tiny pearl buttons on my high necked blouse. He watched with great concentration as I slid it down over my shoulders, exposing my chemise-clad breasts, pushed high by my corset. I wriggled seductively out of my skirt, then plucked casually at the laces of my corset, and soon I had shed that too. Finally only my chemise remained, and when that floated to the ground at my naked feet, he let out a long sigh, both satisfied and sad.

"You are just as I imagined, a stunning work of art. Like a classical statue come to life. But no. Not even your beautiful body is not enough to rouse me to attention."

I sashayed forward and leaned over him, my full breasts swinging forward. I laid my finger on his lips. "Shhhhhh," I whispered, "And picture this..." The time had come to pitch my big idea. It was a gamble. He might be horrified. I had to sell it right.

"Picture me in my bed. Naked, like this, and illuminated only by candlelight. Now imagine that someone else enters the room and walks toward the bed, dressed only in breeches. They are tall, and their shoulders and broad, their back etched with beautifully sculpted muscles. Their dark hair is tied at the back of their neck - "

Lord Prestone made a small noise of consternation in the back of his throat, but my finger was still laid gently across his lips.

" - and as they approach the bed, they begin to unbutton those breaches to release long, straining cock." I let my finger trace down his neck to his chest. "Does THAT arouse you, my Lord?"

He looked at me smoulderingly, wonderingly. "You know about Trent?" he said roughly.