6. The Earl's Shame

Rafe, the Earl of Langham watched his cousin, Sophie and his friend, Henry Barnes giggling together on the other side of the reception room. It made his blood boil the way that man was inserting himself into the lovely Sophie's affections. If he could not have her, he was damned if he was going to watch that cad worm his way into her snowy white drawers. He had a mind to inform her of charming Henry's peccadilloes; how he was partial to servicing two women at once, and was somewhat fond of restraints and spanking. That would end the flirtation, he was sure of it. The hypocrisy of this thought escaped him for a moment, but then he remembered his peccadilloes were probably far worse than Henry's and if Sophie offered her maidenhead up to him he would probably take it, and with some enthusiasm. He cringed at his own lack of moral fibre sometimes. At least Henry was not her blood relation, and eligible despite his vigorous nighttime activities. And at least he would be a skilful lover.

Anyway, Rafe reminded himself, he had other fish to fry, and he thought about the Governess sitting quietly in the nursery upstairs. How he would love to sneak up there and shove his face between her comely thighs. She would not be so fond of reading once he showed her something else to occupy her time. He would lick her out until she was mindless and crying out his name. Then he would take his cock in his hand and ram it up her. He would give her cunt such a pounding her eyes would be rolling into the back of her head.

"Rafe, dear," a voice interrupted him and he looked up, his mind somewhat clouded from his lusty thoughts.

Damn, it was Mrs. Rawlings and she was thrusting her heaving bosom in his face.

"You look rather bored," she purred, trailing a finger down the back of his neck.

"Not at all," he said, his voice coming out rather husky. "I was musing on pleasant things."

"Maybe you would like to take a walk," she said, her finger playing with his hair. "The conservatory has a clear view of the new moon."

And an iron bench for her to bend over and take his cock, he silently added. But he had done that once only through sheer desperation and quite frankly he would rather fuck his own hand than have her again.

"I am afraid I am feeling somewhat weary," he said shrugging her away and standing up. "I think I may retire early."

She looked put out and more than a little surprised. The Earl of Langham never left the party before midnight, not when a lively game of whist was about to commence. But the Earl of Langham was tiring of the company and more than a little jaded. He needed to escape from the lascivious looks more than one of the ladies had been throwing him all evening, something he never thought he would tire of, but it had finally happened. He had had his fill.

***

Rather than go straight to his room, he made a detour down to the kitchen to see if he could find a piece of the splendid pie that had been served at luncheon. It was dark and the servants had all retired, and he spent a pleasant few moments in the welcome peace and quiet. But then he heard a noise; the distinctive sound of a woman's ecstatic moans. Leaving the pie, he followed the rapidly escalating cries to eventually find himself at the door of the scullery. Squinting into the gloom he saw a man's naked arse, its muscular globes flexing as it thrust vigorously. He would recognise that arse anywhere. It was Johnson and from the little feet that were waving in the air, he surmised that Johnson was giving the chambermaid exactly what she wanted, and giving it to her good.

"Harder!" she was squealing, and Johnson grabbed hold of her ankles and spread her legs wide as he violently thrust into her, his delicious butt cheeks glowing in the moonlight that shone through the window.

It was a splendid sight indeed, and Rafe could not help reaching down and clasping the substantial erection that had suddenly unfurled.

"Take. My. Big. Cock," Johnson snarled, his hips moving in time to his words, "Take. It. Deep!"

Rafe was a little shocked at the normally polite man's aggressive words, but at the same time, mightily turned on. The maid's moans became so high pitched she sounded as if she were in pain and Rafe could feel his balls tighten at the stream of filth being growled out in Johnson's deep voice. His eyes were fixed on his manservant's pumping arse as he pulled his prick out from his breeches and slid his fist up and down the aching shaft, and the aural and visual stimulation was just too much as he shot his load with an unintentionally loud cry.

Johnson must have reached his fulfillment at about the same time because when Rafe's mind cleared, he was standing still, the maid's ankles still in his fists, gasping for breath.

Without even turning round, Johnson asked calmly, "Did you like the performance, Sir?" and the maid beneath him giggled.

"Better than any of the entertainment upstairs," Rafe replied.

"You must join us next time."

"Maybe," Rafe said not wanting to be rude. "Thank you so much for that ... unexpected interlude, but I must be retiring to bed now," and to the maid he said, pointing at the pools of his creamy cum on the stone floor, "Would you clean that up please?"

***

Rafe went slowly upstairs feeling a little disgusted with himself. He seemed to be resorting to self-abuse far too often lately, and it was undignified for a man of his age. He was increasingly concerned at how much the new Governess was occupying his thoughts and he was coming to the realisation that he might not be himself again until he had spent inside her.

He was so deep in thought that he almost walked into the very woman he was obsessing over. She gasped and dropped her book and despite the overwhelming heat that suddenly flooded him, he managed to say smoothly, "We must stop meeting like this."

She looked him over and her eyes settled on his still partly undone breeches, his hastily tucked in shirt escaping from the open vent. He wondered if she could smell the recently spent spunk and without rational thought passing through his mind, he pushed her up against the wall. Some nonsensical male part of his brain seemed to think that if he repeated this move often enough she would eventually succumb. But not tonight apparently.

She took hold of his whiskery chin and prevented his lips from meeting hers.

"You have me in a highly compromising position," she whispered.

"I can think of far more compromising positions than this," he growled as she loosened her grip on his chin.

There was a glint of amusement in her green eyes, and he longed to kiss her judgmental little mouth.

"I do not give myself freely, Lord Langham," she said, her long dark lashes batting seductively.

"I refuse to believe you are a virgin," he said, shocking even himself.

She did not even blush. "That is not the issue. I do not give myself to eligible men."

"So non eligible men are free game?" he asked hopefully.

"You, Lord Langham, are a highly eligible man," and glancing down at his bulging breeches added, "despite appearances."

"But you desire me," he said, leaning closer to that delectably smart mouth. "Don't deny it."

"I am in control of my desires," she said archly, but as he pushed his hips against her he saw the dilation of her pupils, even in the gloom of the corridor. She had not denied it; she had merely dismissed it. There was still hope.

Rafe trailed a finger across her lips and she allowed it, trembling slightly under his touch.

"Leave me in peace, Sir," she whispered softly; a command rather than a request.

He drew away from her. "So be it," he said sadly, his mouth forming a pretty pout, or so he hoped.

She bent and picked up the book and walked away from him, a little shakily he noticed with satisfaction.

When he was lying in his bed with the bright moonlight slanting across him rendering sleep impossible, he suddenly realised what she meant by not giving herself freely to eligible men. She was hunting for a husband. Damn, he was in trouble.