The Perfect Duchess

Author's Note: For some reason, I just want to make this into a Regency Romance instead of a Regency Erotica, but I think I've managed to resist my impulses enough. Enjoy!

Graham Spencer, the Duke of Pembroke, sat in a corner of White's, perusing the morning newspaper. It was the first time he had left his fashionable Mayfair townhouse since his wedding to Lady Isabelle, the stepdaughter of the Earl of Dunbarton, three days ago. They had spent most of that time indulging in decadent, erotic pleasure, but to his unexpected delight, he had also enjoyed learning more of the character and personality of his new wife. Izzy was everything he had ever dreamed of in a spouse: beautiful, intelligent, capable, and above all, absolutely insatiable. His tired cock gave a twitch in his trousers as he thought of his voluptuous wife, whom he had left sleeping peacefully in bed after a wild romp between the sheets at dawn.

It was no wonder that he hadn't been able to wipe the contented smile off his face, even as he digested the latest dismal news regarding the unrest in the north.

"Pembroke, you devil!" A strident voice rang out in the quiet establishment, causing more than one white-haired gentleman to grumble and glare in discontent at having the silence broken. Graham lowered the paper to see his good friend, the Duke of Stamford, marching towards him, his usual genial, handsome face dark with a ferocious frown.

"What's this I hear about you getting leg-shackled? And to Dunbarton's stepdaughter, no less!" Stamford stood with arms akimbo before Graham, looking down at him from his great height.

"Please sit, Stamford. I don't fancy having a crick in my neck after this conversation." Graham gestured to the comfortable chair beside him and folded the newspaper away.

His giant of a friend plopped down, causing the chair to creak alarmingly, although it eventually steadied under his weight. "Well? When did this happen?" Stamford asked impatiently.

Graham shrugged nonchalantly. "I had a sudden fancy to get married and now I have the perfect duchess. It's as simple as that. You owe me one hundred pounds, by the way," he added, referring to a bet they had made a few weeks earlier about finding a wife as luscious and appealing as the Duchess of Norland.

"The perfect duchess? Doing it a bit too brown, aren't you, Pem?" Stamford scoffed as he reached into his coat pocket for a roll of notes. "As if Norland hadn't already found the perfect duchess," he muttered in a lower voice, slapping the bills on the table between them.

Crossing one elegantly shod foot over his knee, Graham pocketed the sum and leaned back in his chair. "I assure you, my wife has not disappointed me. In fact, I would venture to say that she has exceeded all expectations."

Stamford peered at him closely, perhaps noting the cat-got-the-cream satisfaction that suffused him, or perhaps it was the slight shadows under his eyes, evidencing late nights of debauchery.

"By Jove, I believe you mean it. Well, where is she, this paragon of wifely virtue? Will I have a chance to do more than shake hands with her at the next ball?"

Graham grinned. "It might surprise you to know that my Duchess has a more intimate knowledge of yourself than you would imagine."

Stamford grunted, his eyebrows lowering in confusion. "How do you mean?"

"Do you recall a certain garden interlude during the Devonshire ball a fortnight ago?"

Stamford tilted his head to the side in thought before snapping his fingers. "Of course I do. Yet another reason why I fail to comprehend how any woman can equal the Duchess of Norland." He smiled fondly, as if remembering the feel of Cynthia's sweet pussy clasping his cock tightly as her husband filled her backside.

"I suppose you weren't aware that you had an audience?"

Stamford swiftly met his friend's twinkling eyes and narrowed his own. "You don't mean to say..."

Graham nodded. "I do. And she was very intrigued, I must tell you. Very intrigued indeed."

Stamford leaned forward in his chair with a lustful gleam in his eye. "Well, dammit, man. When will I meet her?"

Graham took up his paper again, unfolding it and snapping it open before him. "The Duchess of Norland has invited my wife to tea this afternoon. I am hoping for some gentle persuasion from that good lady. A slight corruption of the mind, let's say," Graham added, letting a corner of the newspaper fall so that he could give Stamford a wink.

Stamford sat back and blew out a low whistle. "Two Duchesses, eh?" he said with a growing smile. "I can't bloody wait."

********

The china clinked gently as Isabelle sat, her back straight, in one of the Duchess of Norland's dainty sitting room chairs. She and Cynthia had been close friends since their girlhood, but she hadn't seen much of her lately, ever since her courtship and marriage to the Duke. A new duchess had many responsibilities, as Isabelle was coming to find out.

She herself had spent all morning in a deep conference with her husband's housekeeper, Mrs. Clay. Having already earned that lady's respect by being her usual competent, poised self, the hours passed by very satisfactorily on both sides as they discussed what was needed to turn a bachelor's home, albeit a very well-run one, into a family establishment.

Now, she studied Cynthia's angelic face as the maid set out the tea things.

"You may leave us, thank you, Sally," Cynthia said as she reached forward to pour. The maid bobbed a curtsy and closed the door to the drawing room gently behind her, giving them their privacy.

"Here you are, Izzy," her friend said, handing her a cup with one lump of sugar, just as she had always taken it. "Or shall I call you Duchess?" Cynthia's smile was sly.

"I wouldn't dare ask that of you!" Isabelle said with a laugh. "Although you haven't called me Izzy for years."

"And is there any objection to a resurrection of the nickname?"

"Well," Isabelle said with a blush. "Pembroke has decided to adopt it and I like to think of him being the only one to call me by that name. It's a bit silly, I suppose."

"Not at all!" Cynthia's eyes lit up. "It's rather sweet, actually." She took a sip from her teacup as she looked at Isabelle over the rim. "Although I was surprised to hear of your nuptials, I no sooner learned of your marriage than thought you two would make a lovely couple. I'm so glad to hear that you are happy together. I have a great affection for the friends of my husband."

"Oh yes, I've heard about your affection," Isabelle said cheekily without thinking before looking up with wide eyes. She stammered, "I-I mean--"

"What do you mean, dear?" Cynthia asked, raising one delicate brow.

Sighing, Isabelle placed her cup and saucer down on the ornate table before her. "I'm ashamed to confess this, Cynthia, but I was a witness to your, err, liaison with Pembroke at the Thornton's musicale."

Cynthia gasped.

"And that time in the garden of the Devonshire ball," Isabelle hastily added in a mutter.

Cynthia gasped again, her hand creeping up to her throat. "My goodness, what must you think of me?" she whispered, her eyes lowering in embarrassment.

"Well, to be perfectly honest with you, Cynthia, I'm rather... curious."

Her friend looked up quickly. "Curious? Not horrified, upset, or disgusted?" She ticked these reactions off her fingers.

Isabelle smiled. "I'm afraid I'm none of those things. Does that make me terribly unladylike?"

With a snort, Cynthia rolled her eyes. "If you're unladylike, what does that make me?"

"I think it makes you very, very lucky."

A pretty blush stained Cynthia's cheeks as she smiled demurely. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that the woman Pembroke chose as his wife would think that way. How do you feel about marriage so far?"

"Oh, Cynthia!" Isabelle exclaimed with a laugh. "I think you know very well already how I might feel about it."

Cynthia leaned forward eagerly. "Yes, but I've only been alone with Pembroke once, at the musicale, in fact. I love Norland dearly, more and more each day, but there is something about a man with black hair and eyes, don't you think?" She sighed dreamily.

"Yes, indeed," Isabelle agreed, and the two sat for a moment, lost in reverence for the dark good looks of her husband. With a shake, she brought herself to the present. "And what about Stamford?"

"Oh, him!" Cynthia's eyes grew round. "Isabelle, that man has been gifted with the most enormous endowment. Granted, I've only been with the three Dukes and thus have very little to compare it to, but... You've seen an ungelded horse, have you not?"

Isabelle's mouth fell open. "That--that's impossible!"

"Of course it's not quite that big."

"Even if it were half that size! How would it even, well, you know... fit?" Isabelle sputtered.

Cynthia stared off dreamily and said, "Oh my dear, just you wait until you feel the way it..." she trailed off, colouring hotly.

"What way?"

"Err, well, perhaps you should talk to Pembroke about this," Cynthia said, her voice unnaturally high. She busied her hands with the tea things, no longer looking Isabelle in the eye.

"I did, of course," Isabelle said with a note of exasperation. "He said I should ask you about it."

Cynthia cocked her head to the side, her eyes round. "Oh? He did?"

"He seemed to think you might be able to tell me about the... experience. As I said, I'm rather curious." Isabelle gave her a hopeful look.

After pondering this for a few moments, tapping her lip as she gazed back at Isabelle, Cynthia nodded decisively and leaned forward with a conspiratorial smirk. "Well, my dear..." she began.

********

That night, Graham stood in the dressing room doorway leading to his Duchess's bedchamber, watching his wife brush her hair at the quaint vanity table that had been his mother's. Her long, honey-brown locks gleamed in the firelight, smooth and straight.

He put his hands in his dressing gown pockets and leaned one shoulder on the doorframe, content for the moment to watch Isabelle performing this mundane act. After a minute, however, his cock began to stir at the thought of those silky strands brushing across his naked skin. Another minute more saw him striding across the room to stand behind her, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

"Good evening, Graham," she said with a smile. She was in a thin, wispy nightdress that clung to every single one of her curves. The sight of her rosy nipples against the delicate, champagne-coloured silk was enough to stiffen him fully under the heavy brocade of his dressing gown.

"Good evening, Izzy," he replied, his voice low with desire as he raked his hot gaze over her in the mirror. "And how was your tea with the Duchess?"

They had had a quiet dinner together, as they had done for the past few nights, neither desiring the company of others for now. Although he had asked this same question at dinner, the answer she gave now, in the privacy of their bedchambers, was much different than her bland reply earlier in front of the footmen serving their meal.

"It was very informative," Isabelle said now with an impish smile.

"Yes?" Graham put his hands on her shoulders, beginning to lightly massage the taut muscles there.

"Mm, yes," Isabelle said on an appreciative sigh. "Cynthia told me how Norland asked you and Stamford to seduce her." She sent him a sharp look. "I'll have you know now that I, unlike my friend, would not enjoy being tricked in such a manner."

"I would never dream of it," Graham said, finding a particularly tight knot with his thumb and kneading it, banishing that militant light in his formidable wife's eye as she melted again beneath his hands.

He grinned at her feisty indignation and added, "Although I have to say, I believe the Duchess enjoyed the seduction very much, despite the deceit."

"That's as may be," Isabelle admitted. "She did have a rather happy glow while she described her amorous adventures this afternoon. But Cynthia has always had a much sweeter, more forgiving nature than I."

"Duly noted, love, duly noted." Graham's hands wandered down, running over her rounded, white shoulders. "And how descriptive was the Duchess this afternoon?"

"Very descriptive." Isabelle's hazel eyes were lit with a lusty fire and Graham marvelled at how green they always seemed to be when her desire flared.

"She told me..." her voice broke off in a low moan as Graham's hands finally journeyed down to her heavy breasts, cupping them through the nightdress. Their eyes met and held in the mirror as Isabelle began again, her voice husky with need. "She told me how Stamford sucked her pussy while she sucked on your cock during the Barlestone ball, and all the while, Norland was watching from a secret corridor."

"Fuck, Izzy," Graham breathed. It always made him as hard as iron when Isabelle let naughty words slip through her luscious lips.

"She said that after the ball that night, Norland fucked her like an animal in heat, he was like a savage beast. That was when he first took her arse and she said she came harder than she ever had before."

Graham's fingers convulsed reflexively over their plump handfuls of tit. "Bloody hell, Izzy," he said, his voice like gravel. "Then what?" He began to pinch the extended peaks of her breasts through the silk as her green eyes turned hazy with carnal hunger.

In a voice like smoke, Isabelle continued. "Then she told me of the week at Atherstone House."

Graham's cock was so hard it was almost painful, pushing against the folds of his dressing gown. He could feel the tip leaking fluid as his wife skillfully fed his ardour. The week she alluded to flashed through his mind, a parade of wanton, depraved images.

"She said you, Norland, and Stamford fucked her over and over, often at the same time, one in her arse and one in her pussy while she sucked the third in her mouth. She said that when she's filled with three cocks, she feels the most overwhelming pleasure, like she's drowning in erotic bliss." Isabelle widened her legs on the low bench and Graham needed no further invitation to reach down and cup her pussy, groaning when he felt how wet the silk was between her thighs.

"Did she say anything else?" he growled in her ear, inserting a finger into her swollen channel by pushing the fabric of her nightdress in as well. The look on her face when he filled her was something he was beginning to crave desperately at all hours of the day.

"No, but she did give me something," Isabelle said on a shudder.

"And what was that?" Graham asked, slowly pumping his digit in and out, the silk becoming positively drenched.

"I have to show you." Isabelle straightened and Graham reluctantly parted from the warm velvet of her body as she stood. He put his finger into his mouth so he could taste her ambrosial flavour, whetting his appetite further.

In a graceful motion, she swiftly pulled her nightdress over her head and dropped it to the floor. Then, very slowly, she bent over until her forearms were resting on the vanity among the pots of creams and bottles of perfumes. Her tits hung down, hugged between her arms, the taut nipples straining.

"Hell and damnation," Graham breathed reverently.

There, between the milky globes of Isabelle's ass, was a thick, wooden dildo, held in place in her pink pucker by a flared base.

His cock throbbed at the sight and he reached out with a slightly shaking finger to push gently on the base, eliciting a moan and a violent shiver from his wanton wife.

"Graham," Isabelle panted, her eyes beseeching in the mirror.

"How long has this been in here?" he demanded.

"Since just before dinner."

"Fucking hell, Izzy," he said, untying his dressing gown and tossing it away. He swept away the low bench she had been sitting on, sending it clattering to the side before he wrapped a fist around her long, thick hair, pulling her upright against his heated torso. "Do you mean to tell me that you sat through dinner, making polite conversation, with this in your arse?" He reached between them and pressed again on the dildo, harder this time.

"Yes!" Isabelle wailed, her arms coming up over her shoulders, her fingers twisting in his hair. Her eyes were like emeralds in their reflection.

"Christ, I need to fuck you," Graham growled. "Spread your legs."

Isabelle immediately obeyed, widening her stance. With one fevered stroke, Graham entered her hot cunt, filling her completely. They groaned together at the feel of her channel, tightened by the dildo, grasping his thick shaft.

With one hand on her breast and one hand going around to find her slick folds between her legs, Graham began to fuck her urgently, hard. In the mirror, Isabelle's body looked even more erotic. Her big tits bounced enticingly and the sight of his cock thrusting into her swollen pussy made everything feel hotter.

"Graham! Oh God, your cock feels so big!" Isabelle called out, writhing back against his chest. When his fingers rubbed over her engorged clit, manipulating it, she let out a breathless sob.

"It's going to feel even bigger when it's Stamford fucking your arse instead of this tool, you naughty minx." He pounded his aching, rigid cock into her slick, swollen pussy, loving the way her features softened in a haze of pleasure. "Is that what you want, love? You want to get fucked by two big cocks at the same time?"

Isabelle moaned, too lost in pleasure to respond. When Graham pinched her clit in his fingers at the same time as twisting her nipple, she came in a violent rush, screaming his name and shaking in ecstasy.

"Yes, darling, come all over my cock, oh fuck!" With one more lunging thrust, he hilted himself fully, holding his pelvis tight against her ass as his cock lurched in blissful release. His seed shot out in white-hot streaks of pleasure and he grunted and moaned, his face buried in Isabelle's neck.

It was several, heavenly moments before he slid out of her juicy pussy and swept her into his arms, carrying her to the bed.

********

"Mm," Isabelle said, stretching out on the covers before blinking her eyes at her gorgeous husband. "That was magnificent."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, but we're not nearly finished yet," Graham said with a predatory smile as he climbed onto the bed as well, his cock still rampant and dripping with their cum.

"So soon?" Isabelle asked with wide eyes. Her pussy clenched in anticipation and she bit her bottom lip.

"I think you'll come to learn, my love, that there will never be a time when I won't be ready to fuck your delectable arse." He braced himself over her and kissed her hotly, wetly. His kiss was a deep potent drug and soon she was rubbing herself against him, her ardour stoked to a fever pitch once more.

Graham began a slow descent over her body then, mouthing down her neck. He sucked on her tits until she was squirming in a desperate passion, begging for more. "Please, Graham, I need you!" Her pussy clenched hard, crying out to be filled.

"Patience, love," he said, settling down between her outspread thighs. His dark eyes gleaming, he licked into her soaked pussy with a hungry stroke of the tongue.

"Graham!" Isabelle cried out, her back arching as pleasure arrowed through her. She clamped her hands over his scalp, twisting her fingers in his thick hair and pulling hard. She was rewarded with a low chuckle and an even harder swipe of his tongue against her sensitive clit.

It wasn't long before she was sobbing with need, her body undulating with each wicked, caressing lick, her ass clenching hard on the tool still buried deep within her.

Just as she was about to fly over the precipice of a powerful orgasm, Graham rose to his knees, his chin shining with juices.

"No, no, I'm so close," she begged, reaching her arms out to pull him back to her.