Passion and Propriety

Passion and Propriety Passion and Propriety

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

Samantha, a well groomed young lady of fortune, is tortured by forbidden love. But, when she discovers that the object of her affection may indeed be interested, she throws propriety and caution to the wind.

Summary

Samantha, a well groomed young lady of fortune, is tortured by forbidden love. But, when she discovers that the object of her affection may indeed be interested, she throws propriety and caution to the wind.

Content

Submitted: August 15, 2011

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: August 15, 2011

A A A

A A A


Passion and Propriety

 

The rain taps relentlessly against the window as I gaze out onto the grounds. Very interested in one particular droplet, I follow it’s decent down the length of the glass. It seems to mimic the playful, somewhat hesitant trickling I am feeling in my stomach. My stomach, my heart… I seem to be squirming on an atomic level. The rain, the wind, the unusually dark sky and the thunder just threatening to raise its voice – what a combination. A flash of lightening forces my gaze back to the grounds, a momentary pause followed by an onset of renewed tingles and a guilty smirk. The electricity in the air could very well be due to the electricity coursing through my veins. Anyone else would have taken 4 days of uncustomary storms as a bad sign, higher powers discouraging any plans. For me, the overall effect is quite satisfying. Considering what I am about to do. After years of waiting, of harnessing my own storm. Years of fearing that age was too big a hindrance. I will have him. No, take him. By dawn, everything will change.

 

I hatched my plan 5 days ago. The day he left. Sara and I had been out riding. It had been a beautiful day at Whitehall Manor, and time had simply gotten away from us. I walked, no – ran into his study a full 30 minutes late, banging the door open in haste. I had been prepared for him to be very annoyed, very stern, and (so I suspected) amused at the tardiness he’d come to expect from me. I made to begin the oh so familiar and memorized speech, explaining myself, and making my apologies – when I was struck dumb by the look on his face. Years of marking and analyzing his facial expressions and I’d never seen this particular mask. It wasn’t anger or annoyance… It was a pained look. Almost as if he were on the verge of tears. Yet, there was something lingering around the mouth, a struggled, almost relieved smile. And those eyes. Those deep, dark eyes I’d come to know. The eyes that would pierce me with reprimand, were now very wide, hungry and searching, boring into me as if hoping to catch a glimpse of my soul. The intensity of his gaze caused the breath to hitch in my chest.  No sooner had the revelation washed over me and the look vanished to be replaced by one of his more familiar expressions, the moment was gone. “Samantha.” His velvet voice caressed every syllable. He stared through me, eyebrow raised, trying to assume a would be appropriate air. He covered magnificently. But, the damage was done, I had caught him in the middle of something, and he knew it. Not to mention, he had rarely used my given name in all the years he’d been here. “I had hoped you would be on time for our last lesson. Do, close the door behind you, if of course, you’ve managed to leave it attached to it’s frame.”

 

I settled into my usual chair and started carefully. “Our last lesson… sir?” “Yes. I make for London this afternoon. I’m to take up my place at the firm.” I was shocked. I tried to remember hearing anything about this before but….“But, this… this is so sudden.” “Yes, I received a letter from my father yesterday… “requesting”… I settle down in a proper profession.” “He doesn’t approve of your teaching, sir?” “Ha.” He said with a scoff.  “Teaching, yes – as long as it’s a worthwhile subject. But, of reading or writing, …or of love?.... There’s no life to be had in fantasy.” He spat the last words harshly, of course they were not his own. I began to protest.“But that’s …”…. “ -- of no significance.” He cut across me. Studying my look of concern, he gave in to my silent plea for some sort of explanation. “My father…” he began, settling back into his chair,  “has settled his fortune… irrevocably… upon my younger brother. I must begin to earn my own, and… No, there’s no point in my telling you why.” His expression softened a little as I tried not to look affronted, and his shoulders relaxed as he caught my eyes… “Anyway, I rather think I’ve finished here. You’re everything anyone could expect of a well groomed young lady… and more.” – His skin turned a slight shade of pink –  he inhaled deeply and rushed to continue in a more appropriate tone, “You’re fluent in French, Latin and Italian. You’ve read all the great poets and philosophers. You play the piano forte with precision and grace, and you’ve your own finely tuned instrument to accompany it. It seems as though I have nothing more to offer you. And, forgive me… but I fear I’ve done you a disservice by allowing you to much freedom”  At the look of defiance on my face he smiled vaguely and explained before I could protest. “I… unlike many… happen to believe it is a given right, for man, woman and child to think and feel whatever they may. And, expression of those feelings… is what separates us from the beasts in the field.” He glanced at my riding crop “But… most men” he continued, his voice hollow, and unreadable,  “would not find that an attractive quality in a bride… Do try to contain that wild and impulsive heart under the mask of grace I’ve painted for you…” He turned his head and gazed sightlessly at a spot between the floor and the doorknob. “I take no pleasure in it, but I would not ask you to do so, if I did not honestly believe it would make life easier for you.” At that, he took a deep breath. Studying the lines in his face, I noted that he seemed much older. He had always seemed young for his age. But sitting there across from me, he seemed miles away, bearing all the burdens of time.  

 

We sat in silence for a few moments, neither knowing what to say next. I noticed Shakespeare on the table before me, opened to the Tragedy of Hamlet, precisely where we had left it the day before. I glanced up and saw his copy, held loosely in his hand, which lay idly over the arm of his chair. Gathering my nerve, I rose, walked over to him and… careful to make sure I brushed his hand, took the book, opened it to the correct page and, leaning over his shoulder, sat the book before him… “Shall we? Lest I suffer the slings and arrows, myself.” He inhaled quickly and gave a quick nod. As I turned, made my way to my seat and began to read aloud… I could still feel the heat from our close proximity and I imagined I could still hear his heart beating.

 

After the lesson, I accompanied him to the front door. “Is there nothing I might say to convince you to stay?” He sat his case on the floor and fastened the hook on his cape “Oh, so now you’re eager to attend lessons? You’re more than capable of continuing your studies on your own. I’ve made a life time of it, you know.” A chill breeze swept through my hair and I stared at the ground between us, fiddling with the riding crop I was momentarily surprised to find, still in my hands…As he made to put on his gloves… He stopped suddenly and took my hand in both of his. Six years of tutelage, and our parting ends in a handshake?! Apparently he felt it too, because our hands lay wrapped around each others for what could have been a moment or an hour. His gaze fell upon our clasped hands. The intensity (and, was it… longing?) with which he stared sent a shiver down my spine, through my heart and straight to my groin. He tightened his grasp, then turned my hand over and traced a faint scar that lie there with his thumb.“God, let him kiss me!” I thought. As if reading my mind, he made a sudden movement as if to kiss the mark upon my palm but thought better of it… or perhaps (and I hoped) he couldn’t bare such intimate contact just before leaving. He promptly released me and with a strained, put on smile said “My dear Miss Farris… it has been my honor. I’m sure that… someday…you’ll find yourself the head of someone’s household… And,  I shall count that man among the luckiest” Another strained smile and he turned on the spot, making his way towards the handsome carriage awaiting him in the drive. I stood on the step, watching as his black velvet cape billowed behind him, his silky top hat glistening in spite of the dense cloud cover. He walked away with a steady stride, and with all the strength and determination time had given him. I was on the verge of galloping after him like a child when, as he reached his destination he turned quickly, one hand, one foot resting on his vessel home with a look that both longed for and begged me not to move. He seemed to struggle with something internally and, upon the verge of speech… he fixed a crooked smile, tipped his hat and disappeared behind the curtain.

 

Another flash of lightening produced not altogether unpleasant goose bumps upon the back of my neck. In effect I turn to check the grounds, the driveway – no sign of life. The storm brewing outside is certain to be the worst yet. But, for me, it feels as though the weather has been set specifically for this, for us. Like the storm flooding the grounds, he is dark, mysterious and secretly passionate. Something dark brews deep within him, raging against his insides – always threatening to overtake him. And just as the storm rages against my window – Andrew Chamberlin rages against my mind, body and soul. It gives me a thrill to think that the gods are on our side. I glance down at the diary I’ve abandoned in my infatuation with the weather. His Diary. God knows how many years of dreams, fantasies, hopes and desires it contains. But, the fact that he has taken the time to write them out so thoroughly draws me to him more than words can tell. Reading his deepest desires is exhilarating. I’m overcome with an intense desire just imagining the things he claims to want. I can almost hear him gasping and sighing my name in ecstasy…To think, he traced these sentences deliberately, with his own hand… his hands…. an exceptionally intense surge of lust claims my body, causing my hips to thrust forward, I drop my hand to quiet the storm… I can almost feel them on me, in any one of the situations he so delicately describes.

 

Lost in diabolical planning, I don’t even notice the darkness set in. The heavy, rapid clang of the door knocker nearly unseats me. I all but sprint into the hall and over to the top of the landing, listening hard to assure myself it’s him before I start toward his old rooms with the same determined stride he left with. I put my faith in Niles to hold him up with several “how do you do, sir’s?” and “would sir allow me to take his effects?” I’ve only enough time to place his diary where he left it, scribble out a short note and hide myself in shadow before he enters, slightly out of breath, glancing into the hall to be sure he’s not being watched. He closes the door very quietly and turns up the gas. The room is lit now, but I am still concealed. He turns and crosses the room to the desk in no more than 4 steps. He opens the drawer, and lets out a sigh of relief, I’ve put it right where he had left it, next to Hamlet and beneath the handkerchief he undoubtedly used to wrap my hand the day father whacked me with my own riding crop for leaving the stable door ajar. He clutches the diary to his chest and brings the handkerchief, still stained with blood, to his face, just under his nose. A moment’s relief before he realizes that the cloth has crinkled, like paper… his chest rises and falls rapidly as he slowly places the diary on the desk. Glancing around the room with a nervous, quizzical look upon his face, he unfolds the handkerchief to reveal a small, folded piece of paper. He becomes smaller as he reads, like a child that has been caught saying a naughty word. My heart pounds thunderously against my chest, threatening to give away my position. I hope with all my soul that I’m not wrong in thinking this is what he wants.

 

He walks trepidatiously through to the next room, glances toward  the bed, half tempted, half unnerved. When he sees what’s waiting there, his knees seem to fail him for a moment and he clutches the chair to steady himself. Slowly, he approaches the bed and runs a long, slender finger down the length of satin I’ve placed there. In one sweeping motion, as if resigning himself to whatever hell is waiting for him, he throws off his cloak, sits upon the chest at the foot of the bed, ties the fabric around his eyes and lets go the breath he’s been holding… he follows directions well…

 

I come into the room, watching him, studying him, gathering my own strength. I didn’t sign the letter. But, he can be in no doubt as to who is about to make his fantasy reality. His breathing is short and shallow; without his sight, his ears are straining to catch me. I approach him, nearly an inch from his face, after a moment he can sense my presence, or perhaps feel my breath upon his face. He makes to reach for me, but I retract. He understands that he’s disobeyed orders and instead, holds his trembling arms out, wrists together, waiting for the next phase. Of course he knows what’s coming next – he did write it after all. But… I’ve made a few changes I hope he’s going to love. Following the letter of his desire, I prize him to stand. I run my hand down both, surprisingly muscular arms before tying each to a bedpost. I stand in front of him again and breathe lightly over his lips, he licks at them and pulls the bottom lip in automatically. I shiver a little imagining his tongue engaged elsewhere… but, that particular pleasure will have to wait – I fully intend to give him what he wants, first. I take my time undoing the buttons of his waistcoat, then his shirt, finally revealing a broad, beautifully toned chest speckled with hair. I long to touch him, kiss him all over, but his diary says specifically that he wants to be teased. Tied up, held back, and teased until he’s begging for it… I’ll have to go slow. With one finger, I draw a line from his neck straight down to his trousers, which are much too high and forbidding for what I’m planning next so I decide to remove them, or pull them apart at least. As I begin again his breath quickens, I continue tracing the line down stopping just above my goal, and close my thumb and index finger around the skin just above it. He gasps but does not vocalize… this may be harder than I thought.

 

A few more tantalizing touches and he’s becoming sensitive to any and all contact. I decide to close the distance between us, pressing a thigh to the hard bulge in his trousers, finally bringing my other leg up around him, resting my foot on the chest behind him, my skirt lifted and thrown back. I slide down his leg a little, grinding into him on the way up. He lets out a groan – I’m sure he can feel my heat. He lifts his leg, hoping to get as close as possible. I release him for this infringement and he whimpers, and grasps at his chains with need.  I hate this, I’m ready to let him loose and have his way with me. But, this is what he wants. After a moment he seems to know what I’m waiting for and obliges. “P..Please… please touch me” Again, I step toward him. This time, I run my hands all over him, petting him heavily. I bring my face up to his. “where would you like me to touch you?”  I ask, my lips brushing his. His knees give a little when he hears my voice for the first time. “…anywhere” he says breathlessly. I bring my hand around to his chest and brush the nipple I find there. It seems to please him so I do it again. One little squeeze and he lets out a hiss. I decide to nip at it with my teeth which causes him to jump and as I caress away the hurt with my tongue, he growls, letting his head fall back as he grips the satin tighter still.

 

Deciding I want to hear more of his voice, I back away slowly, one hand tugging lightly at his trousers. “Tell me Andrew” I begin. “… how long have you wanted this?” Unfocused and panting, he doesn’t respond right away. My own strength surprises me and is starting to fail, I can’t imagine how me must be feeling. I pull a little harder at his trousers and it prompts him to respond “ages… I’ve wanted it for ages, you can’t know how long.”. “As long as you’ve wanted me?” I reply… he lingers on this and I go of him. With a pained expression, as if admitting to something shameful, he replies with a strangled voice “… no… not nearly as long as I’ve wanted you…”. His head drops and I pull his chin up to face me… “kiss me, Andrew”.  He moves his head forward, searching for me. He finds my mouth and kisses me lightly. Then, as if unable to resist, he parts my lips with his own and uses this to pull me closer, sucking desperately at my bottom lip. I let him, relishing in sensuality of it. His tongue darts out to explore, caressing mine. I realize the effect it’s having on me and pull away, afraid I’ll not be able to finish my task if he excites me much further. The hardness in his trousers has grown and is beginning to wet them. Slowly I pull his trousers down, running my nails into this toned thighs, before removing them, boots, stockings and all. A moment’s hesitation before I run my tongue up the length of him, swirling it around the head, probing and flicking at the small slit there which makes him cry out, and finally leak a little more.

 

Though addicted now, to the taste of him, I decide to move onto the next stage, lest he reach his climax too soon. Releasing him from the bedposts I take hold of the satin and turn him around in a circle. Now it is I who stand before the chest. I sit down, and pull on the fabric indicating that he should kneel. I take his hand in mine and pull a finger into my mouth. He does not say anything, but his breath hitches a little. He’s not sure what’s going to happen next, he didn’t write this. Using the satin to move him like a marionette, I place his hand on my knee, he squeezes but does not move. I smile, tying his other arm behind his back and give him his instructions. “touch me, Andrew.” He begins to pant again, but slowly begins to move his hand up my thigh, under my skirt. He takes his time, trembling a little, caressing me. He reaches my center and hesitates before lightly brushing the hair there. Every part of my body aches for more, but I do not rush him. He increases the pressure just slightly, and feels the wetness there. His mouth falls open, releasing a moan, he seems to lose his balance. I place a foot on his bound shoulder to steady him, he turns his head and kisses it softly before probing at my flesh. He gains access and quickly locates the nub, playing it like an instrument and gaining a moan from me. This prompts him to plunge his long, dexterous finger deep inside me. He strokes a few times and removes it before returning with a second. He seems to sob a little as I tighten my grip on his restraints and prevent him from going much further. Shaking he begs, finally… he begs. “Please, Please – I can almost taste you. Please allow me… you will surely kill me otherwise.”

 

Tying both hands behind his back, I encourage him to bend and put my legs up over his shoulders. Using one foot, I draw him close to me, hold my breath, and wait. He probes first with his tongue, finding his quarry he lets out a low, guttural growl and fiercely sets to suckling, flicking and swirling with a tremendous hunger. Soon enough, we set a rhythm and my hips rise up of their own accord to meet him. My eyes roll back and my thoughts become hazy. He’s driving me out of my mind, I almost forget who’s supposed to be in charge. With great difficulty, I push him away and make him to stand. We climb onto the bed and I again strap him down. He seems to know what’s  next and stops me when I make to climb on top of him. “No! No. Sam… wait, please...” he nearly sobs. Slightly affronted, I pause and wait for him to explain. “What’s the matter? Isn’t this what you want?” I ask. “Yes, of course it is. But not like this. I… I want to see you. Please, let me look in your eyes.” I remove the blindfold and his unfocused eyes blink a few times, finally locking with mine and setting a fire between us. He grows… if possible, even harder beneath me.

 

I position myself over him and slide, very slowly down to meet him, never breaking eye contact. Fully sheathed he shutters. I begin to remove my bodice, finally freeing my breasts. Leaning over him, I allow him access and he once again puts that wonderful mouth to use, more than making up for the loss of his hands. I clench around him and he lets loose a muffled moan against my chest, sending tingles down my entire body. I straighten up and begin to move, slowly rocking back and forth. I decide to give him a show, as he’s elected to forgo the blindfold. Arching my back, grabbing fistfuls of my hair, I grind into him, hard. He watches, captivated, clenching his fists. I speed up and begin to move in circles, driving both of us closer and closer to the edge. Digging my nails into his chest, I lift myself higher and slam down several times. He rises up to meet me, each thrust deeper than the last. I clench down on him again, pulling, tugging at him as we rock. With one final downward thrust, I lose control, everything goes white and I tighten on him like a vice, pulling him over the edge with me as he screams my name. He pulses for what seems like an eternity, filling me with hot, wet need. The immediate sensation is too much for me and another orgasm catches me off guard. I fall to his side. In the intensity of the moment, he’s broken free from his restraints. He runs a languid hand down my back and tries to catch his breath.

 

Slowly my senses return, and we both begin to breathe normally. I glance up at him, one arm slung over his chest. He’s already looking at me by the time my eyes find his. I’m startled to find tears forming there. He kisses me softly and pulls me closer to him. “I say, Miss Farris… wherever did you learn that?” “I had a great tutor” I reply playfully. “Hmm… I don’t recall teaching you that” “… Well, I suppose I read it in a book then…”

 

 

FIN


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