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I was engaging in some combination of reading, pacing restlessly, and thinking about seeing Sarah when I heard the knock at the door. I had forgotten for the moment that the only one of the servants that my father hadn't told to stay home was Lindsey, and only the second, seemingly angry, knock pulled me out of my reverie. I rubbed the bridge of my nose to ease the tightness behind my eyes as I exited the parlor, thinking whomever it was would certainly have been far more angry if I had yet gotten into the bath I had just been contemplating.
I didn't realize I still had the book in my hand until it hit the marble tile of the foyer as I opened the door and saw him. I backed away, from surprise or fear or something else I could't name, and he picked up the book as he entered. His other hand reached for my own, and as if there had been nothing between us but the polite and distant relationship of acquaintances, he kissed my fingertips lightly.
"Miss Vanders," he intoned politely, releasing my stunned hand and setting his hat on the rack by the door, "it's been so long. Is your father at home?"
The sound of my voice surprised me with its steadiness and casual tone, "My father is in Paris, as I would have thought you knew well. I was under the impression you were still in business together."
"Of course, of course," he said, lightly. He had removed his gloves and shut the door while I failed to notice, the former placed familiarly on the table and the latter now chained and bolted again. "Rather cold here, don't you think? I suppose you have a fire in the parlor?" He was already guiding my gently by the arm. He was touching me.
I looked sideways and up at him. There were the dark eyes and strong features that had haunted my dreams for so long, the once-broken aquiline nose, the lips that I couldn't help but think of in a cruel smile. Tiny hints of silver appeared in the chestnut hair at his temples, new since I had seen him six years ago.
"And here you are answering the door. What an unexpected pleasure, Miss Vanders. Isn't that a job for the servants?"
I nearly explained where everyone was, mostly sent home while my father and stepmother were out of the country except for the cook who came in to make my dinner and clean up, and the housekeeper in once a week, and Lindsey in for a bit today to help me ready for the New Year's Eve ball. She was out fetching my dress from the seamstress. And all that came out of my mouth was "They're all out right now."
For a split second I saw that cruel smile that I was expecting, and then he advanced upon me, slamming me against a bookcase with one arm as the other hand closed on my throat as his lips did upon mine. I shuddered and tried to gasp, and my lips responded. His teeth grasped my lower lip and bit as he allowed me to breathe, and as his other arm clasped my waist I felt the one that had choked me slap hard across my face. I responded, in both surrender and hunger, as I felt his cock harden where he pressed into my body and his lips find mine again. Sudden shame took me as I remembered Sarah, and I tried to push him away even as I ached for the way he used to use me.
"Please Charles, I ca-" I ended in a muffled cry as his palm found my cheekbone again as he pulled my hair painfully with his other hand. I sobbed with how much I wanted more, as he whispered in my ear. "Yes, I like to hear you say please. And don't you ever. say. 'can't'. to me." The next blow's solid sound was accompanied by my ragged gasping breath. Then the hand in my hair was pulling down harder, forcing me to my knees as he unbuttoned his trousers. I tried again to push him away, and maybe I opened my mouth to protest a second time as he shoved his cock into my mouth. The sound that came out was a moan, and he thrust into my mouth, banging against my throat, and then I felt my teeth scrape lightly against his shaft. I didn't have time to flinch before he had pulled out of my mouth long enough to slap me again, and then his hand grasped my jaw, forcing my mouth wider, as the one in my hair guided me in the speed and stroke that he wanted. I covered my lower teeth with my tongue and curled my lips to shield him from the top. As I began to suck and caress his shaft with my tongue, his hands gentled, the touch on my jaw becoming a caress, the fingers in my hair a promise.
"Look at you. Such a good little whore," I heard him say. His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I tried to take more of him in. I contained my choking as I finally remembered the trick of relaxing my throat, and I don't know if I would call his response a laugh or a moan, but it was something of both. I eased him gently in and out of my throat, caressing with my lips and tongue, and then his hands tightened again, and he shoved his cock deep into my throat once more, taking shallow and savage thrusts. I held my breath as he fucked my mouth, but soon I desperately needed to draw breath. I tried to pull my head back, tried to push myself away against his thighs, but his thrusting continued. Blind animal panic set in as I was unable to breathe, and my pale fists pounded the hard muscle of thighs and the expensive wool that covered them. It was certainly a laugh that I heard - yet barely registered - as my airway was finally open again and he let me breathe, gasping and coughing and nearly slumping to the floor.
The coughing was brief, though I was still breathing raggedly when I heard him say "back up on your knees", which I promptly obeyed, and then as he stroked my hair "open", which I did gladly, welcoming back into my mouth the cock on which I had just choked. "Now suck it the way I like it", and I did. I loved the feel of him in my mouth, his lightly guttural breathing when I slid his cock all the way down my throat, the cramping that began in my jaw as I pleasured him, the promise of more violent restriction of my breathing if I didn't please him. I was wet, and ashamed, and the only thing I wanted more than to keep his cock in my mouth forever was to feel it in my cunt.
His voice was the purr of a predator as he told me I was a good girl, a good whore. Had I been practicing, sucking other cocks? My mouth was his, of course, he said. I had, of course, quite a few, but that was over. But, of course, he didn't intend me to answer. He intended me to please him until he told me to stop. And it did seem like quite a long time. Finally he pulled my hungry lips and aching jaw off of him, and all thoughts were gone but the urgency I knew would soon be fulfilled as he threw me to my feet and against the wall, or to the ground on my back or stomach, or over the chairback... I made an uncomprehending moan as he started to button again, although his engorged cock would never fit away again. "Why, my dear," he said, his tone the perfect confused gentleman, "are you alright? Oh, have I forgotten something you wanted?" Some amount of thought, and shame or panic, was resurfacing as he pulled me to my feet. He took my hair- gently this time, so gently, and caressed the cheek that had not yet known his palm. I swore his touch was like burning, and I realized how hard I was crying. "Oh yes, I can't give you one side and not the other, can I?" His hand pulled back, and I saw stars when it landed again. His hand was there, propping me up, and then he was straightening himself again, finishing his buttons although he was half hard.
"Sophie, pet, could you fetch me some tea? I'm quite chill. Your cheeks seem a bit flushed though. I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time." He smiled the demon smile of my dreams and desires, and I nodded numbly as I teetered to the kitchen an shaky legs. "And dear?" - I paused as I left the warm room for the halway - "Don't touch yourself. I expect you back promptly."
I must have put on the kettle, and steeped the tea, and brought it back. I couldn't exactly remember. I remember pouring him tea, and then myself, and that he was smiling at me perfectly companionably with a hand resting affectionately on my knee when we heard the front door again. He moved to a more proper distance of another chair by the time Lindsey stuck her head in, but it didn't really matter since she didn't care for the drama of overwrought propriety. "Why hello Mr. Cross! Oh, terribly sorry you had to make the tea, miss. Should I draw your bath? Will you be changing as planned? Of course Mr. Cross, good to see you, sorry you didn't hear Mr. Vanders was out of town. Are you alright, miss? You look a big pale..."
Lindsey continued her clucking and he rose and kissed my hand politely as he excused myself. "Yes, of course, Miss Vanders, I will see you at the ball this evening. It seems like such a long time since we have danced." Then he was gone. And I was thinking of Sarah. Sarah was the one I wanted to kiss. I loved her. Today was madness. Maybe it was an hysterical fantasy, brought on by seeing him at the door. But the feeling of my cheek and throat knew that it wasn't.
Hysterical fantasies - well, memories - came on as I was bathing. The water was as hot and all the same as after I cleaned up that first time he took me.
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