Another Chance

But it’s what these two are doing that makes me wriggle.

He’s lifted her skirt and is reaching into her knickers. And she’s letting him.

“Oh Christian…oh God, yes! Touch my clit! Touch my clit!” The Marchioness is the one in control now. She’s spread over the table, but she’s calling the shots. Her husband obediently rummages amongst the skirts of her gorgeous gown, and, adjusting their position, apparently finds her sweet spot.

Just as William Graves finds mine.

His hand is huge, and it stretches the cotton of the shabby, third-best knickers that I sleep in. A thick, but breathtakingly precise finger wiggles its way through my pubic hair, parts my labia and finds my clitoris. I press my fist against my lips as he begins to rub me. He seems to be timing his strokes to his Lordship’s thrusts, the sneaky devil.

Oh, but this is delicious! Just what I’ve been wanting for ages. Just what I need. I love bringing myself off but this is something else. Who cares if William Graves is a stranger? He’s big and strong and warm, human and sharing.

I bet he’d spank my bottom if I asked him.

And this thought tips me over. My pussy ripples and jerks and tightens, pushing waves of luscious pleasure through my belly. William Graves reads my mind and covers my mouth, gently but firmly, pushing my hand away with his much bigger one.

Not that our lordly companions would notice if I howled blue murder at this juncture. They’re coming, too, complete with shouts and curses and kicking and thrashing and a perilous clatter of crockery on the table.

Our orgasms seem to go on forever. I float, as if in a white-out world, yet strangely aware of everything around me. The brilliant, erotic vision of the couple fucking in the kitchen. The rambunctious sound of their pleasure, and the faint yet evocative whisper of William Graves’s breath in my ear. I couldn’t hear him before, but now we’re tuned to each other perfectly. The odor of sex and sweat drifts from my pussy….

Eventually, their Lordships come back to earth, laughing and whispering sweet nothings as they catch their breath and start to right their rumpled clothing. I too descend, rudely aware that I’m standing in a frigid scullery with a man’s hand in my knickers. A man I’ve barely exchanged more than half a dozen words with up until now.

I’m also aware that if I don’t do something soon, I’ll be stuck in here for goodness knows how long. The Marquis and his lady obviously didn’t get a square meal at the posh function they attended, because now they’re setting to with the coffee machine and the toaster.

Behind me, sharp-eyed William Graves obviously sizes up the situation, and releases me. Silently he smooths down my clothing, giving me the briefest of almost-affectionate squeezes. Then he turns me, and with the help of some clear, businesslike sign language he wordlessly outlines a plan. Again, the way he gestures and nods seems distinctly soldierly. It could be cribbed from a hundred films or television programs, but it reminds me so much of Jeff that it shakes me. But I have to shape up as William puts his plan into action.

With a huge commotion, he opens the back door, and stamps and slaps his arms as if he’s come in from the outside. He lets the door swing a couple of times, creaking on its hinges, and as he does, I push open the other door, the corridor one, so the two sets of creaks and squeaks overlay each other.

Just as I slip out, I turn and glance at him, and he winks at me. Then the Marquis calls out a greeting, and William moves forward into the kitchen as I pad away as quietly as I can down the corridor, my slipper-clad footsteps conveniently muffled by the carpet runner.

Back in my room, I don’t know how to feel. I’m all over the place. I still feel the echoing glow of orgasm, but the transition between that and my flight from the kitchen was so abrupt that I wonder if I imagined it. I laugh, because I didn’t get my cocoa, either. A glass of water from the bathroom will have to do.

Snuggled under a thick layer of old-fashioned blankets and quilts, I start to get a handle on things. I start to think.

That was fun. It’s been a while since I’ve been with a man, and I needed it. William Graves’s touch was strong and male and completely different to the way my own fingers feel….

I wonder if he’d spank me?

I mean, it was obvious he knew what was going on back there in the kitchen. Maybe he was lying in wait there, too, just hoping their Lordships might have a little “interlude”?

Perhaps not, though. It’s far more likely that he was simply doing a late-night security check when a silly middle-aged archivist in her nightgown sneaked into the boot room, looking as if she was up to no good. And then he decided to lie doggo and see what the crazy bitch would do when the Marquis and Marchioness turned up with spanking on their minds!