Chapter 6 #3
“Good,” he croons. “Now show me that little pussy. Move your panties aside. There, that’s it. Check yourself and see if you’re wet.”
Swallowing, holding my panties out of the way, I probe the lips of my pussy, checking for dampness. “I’m wet,” I whisper.
“Fuck.” He leans forward and slides his thick middle finger right inside me. “Yes, you are.”
I’m mesmerized, hypnotized by the feeling of that single finger thrusting and swirling in my channel. My lips are parted, my cheeks hot with lust, and I know my eyes are probably glazing over. Beresford watches me, grinning with hungry delight at my reaction.
“You become so slick for me so quickly,” he murmurs.
“We can’t stay away from the other guests for long, but I have this strange desire to know that you’re returning to your chair with my cum in your pussy.
If you’ll indulge me in this, I promise to devote the entire duration of the mid-week gathering to your pleasure. I won’t come at all.”
“Not once?”
“Not if it kills me.”
I rather like idea of him pleasuring me all night while suffering the torture of his own desire without relief. It’s unexpectedly erotic.
“Agreed,” I say. “Let’s see how quickly you can fill me up.”
He gives a ragged laugh. “Seeing as I’ve been painfully hard for most of the night, it shouldn’t take long.”
“You have?” I raise my eyebrows.
“Your presence has that effect on me. When I was carrying you through the woods, I thought I might come in my pants. You have no idea how close I was to putting you against a tree and rutting you like a wolf in heat.”
A chill traces over my skin at the mention of wolves, but I’m immediately distracted as he unfastens his pants and brings out his cock. I tug my panties farther to the side, holding them clear of the area where he’ll be penetrating me.
He moves over my body, careful of my ankle, and he angles his hips so he can nudge the head of his cock between the lips of my pussy. He wiggles it there, right near my clit. When I throw back my head and whimper, he laughs, and that laugh does deliciously obscene things to me.
“I’m going inside you. There will be a little stretch,” he warns. “But you’ve taken me before. We both know you can do it.”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Yes.”
His tip bulges through the small opening of my cunt, and he stays there for a moment, breathing hard, stroking his length with one hand. I’m leaning on both my elbows, sitting up just enough to see his big cock tucked inside me, stretching my pussy wide.
He pushes in a little farther, and I lie back, focusing on relaxing my thighs and my stomach. His big hand surges over my breast, squeezing through the layers of clothing. I love the intimacy of his grasp, and my pussy softens in response.
“Yes,” he moans. “I’ve been yearning for this. Look at me, Sybil. Please. I need your eyes on mine.”
There’s a pathetic sweetness in his plea, which is so fucking hot coming from a powerful man like him.
I lock eyes with him while he pushes deeper, and I watch his pupils dilate with the wonder of the pleasure he’s feeling.
His lips part and his breath trembles as he loses himself inside me, thrusting with mindless, reckless, bestial need.
It’s the most glorious thing I’ve ever witnessed.
When he comes, his groan fills the tiny shed, and his shoulders shake beneath the white shirt and the fine tailcoat he’s wearing.
There’s something decadently naughty in doing this so quickly and secretly while we’re both clothed.
I love the slow suction of my pussy around his cock as he pulls out, as if my body wants to clutch him and keep him inside.
“I promised you a taste.” He sticks his little finger into the slit his cock vacated and swirls it around. I gasp and shiver as a wave of pleasure rolls through me.
“Take it,” he commands, holding his wet finger near my mouth.
I suck submissively, tasting the mingled salty tang of his cum and my arousal. “I like it.”
“As you should. Now tighten that little hole and keep my cum inside,” he tells me, and I clench my cunt in response.
He straightens his clothing and helps me fix mine as well. Then he blows out the lantern and carries me to the barn. Once I’m back in the chair, he pushes me to a different vantage point in the room and brings over the padded footstool.
Leaning close to my ear, he whispers, “Keep that cum safe.”
As he starts to pull away, I grab him by his bearded jaw and hold him there. “I’m going to touch myself tonight,” I whisper. “I’ll think of you when I do it.”
His breath quickens, and as he walks away, he subtly adjusts his trousers.
For a moment I sit alone, a smile playing over my lips. I can feel the ghost of his shape inside me. My clit feels swollen and warm, like a few clever touches would drive me over the edge. It’s the most pleasurable torture I’ve ever experienced.
How did he and I slide so quickly into such debauchery? And why does it feel like exactly what I needed?
Someone shrieks from across the room, and several people move hastily, like ripples driven outward by the plop of a stone in a pool.
Instruments squawk as the music halts. There’s another cry, and then Beresford throws open the same side door that he and I used earlier.
He seems to be shooing something toward the exit, and then he slams the door quickly.
“Nothing to be alarmed about, my good people,” he says, raising both hands in a calming gesture. “Simply a mouse. Not surprising in a space that used to be a barn. It’s gone now. Let’s have the music again, shall we? And more wine!”
After some muttered exclamations, the alarm fades and people resume dancing and drinking. A few minutes later, two women hurry past me, and I catch a bit of their conversation.
“If that was a mouse, I’ll eat my best bonnet,” one of them says. “It had spines along its back, and a lizard tail.”
“Maybe it was a lizard,” her companion suggests.
They move on, but my heart feels like chilled stone. I’m instantly certain that the creature who incited the commotion wasn’t a lizard or a mouse, but a demon. Something I summoned.
Either Beresford didn’t get a good look at it, or he lied about what it was.
Apparently Mama and my sister recognize the telltale signs of a summoning, too. They both make their way over to me with brightly anxious smiles.
“Shall we head home?” Mama asks. “You need your rest.”
“If you two are having fun, we can stay,” I tell them.
“No, no,” Anne assures me. “We’re ready to go. It’s for the best.”
Beresford accepts our farewells with a polite bow and says, “Come again sometime,” with a significant look at me and a very slight emphasis on the word come.
My family and I don’t discuss him or the summoning on the way home. Anne and Mama chatter about the gentlemen they danced with instead. They each seem interested in particular men out of the group. For my mother, it’s Justice Oellin, and for Anne, to my surprise, it’s Henry Partridge.
“I didn’t think he was the kind of man you would prefer,” I venture.
“He isn’t.” She sighs. “He’s smart and sweet and kind, and I enjoy spending time with him, but I’m not attracted to him physically, not one bit. And that’s important, isn’t it?” She looks anxiously at our mother.
“It is,” Mama replies. “Even if your partner isn’t objectively the most beautiful person, you should find them physically attractive on some level, if sex is important to you. Otherwise you’re condemning yourself to a life of dissatisfaction.”
“That’s what I thought,” Anne says glumly. “If only I could put Henry into Roman Montelimar’s body… that would be perfect.”
“Roman?” I ask. “That skinny, tall fellow with the dark eyes and the long braids?”
“That’s the one. He’s much prettier than Henry, but he kept flirting with other women all night, whereas Henry is quite devoted.” Again she sighs, louder this time.
I don’t mention that I saw Roman at the orgy. I didn’t see Henry Partridge, though, which is a relief. If he’d been there, fucking other guests, I would have felt obligated to tell my sister.
An hour later I’m in my nightdress, settled on the couch beneath blankets. My mother and sister went upstairs a few minutes ago, so I’m finally alone. At last I can fulfill the promise I made to Beresford, to play with myself while thinking of him.
Just as I’m about to put my hand between my legs, I hear quiet steps on the stairs again. Quickly I place both hands on top of the blanket just before my mother enters the sitting room.
“What is it?” I try to keep the impatience out of my voice. Hopefully she just forgot something and she’ll go away again.
But she pulls our only remaining footstool closer to the couch and sits down on it. “I can’t stop thinking about what you said, my dear. That secrets are safeguards.”
“And?”
“They can be safeguards. They can also be dangerous.” She purses her lips.
“I’ve kept a secret from you, believing that I was sparing you from additional pain, but now things are changing.
You’re falling in love, you’re asking about the Barrow, and you say you’ve seen something more dangerous, something that isn’t the little creatures you summon. ”
“Mama.” I reach for her hand. It’s ice cold. “What are you trying to say?”
“I want to tell you that story, the one I almost told when I was drunk all those years ago, when you were only five years old. Your ability had manifested for the first time that summer—I don’t know if you remember.”
“I do.”
“Right.” She twists the hand I’m holding so she can weave her fingers with mine.
“You didn’t talk for a long time, Sybil.
Not until close to your fifth birthday. I visited some physicians in the city and gleaned advice from them, and I worked with you, trying to help you express yourself.
You learned to make signs with your hands to show us what you wanted or needed.
You could understand everything we said to you, even when you were tiny. But you couldn’t speak.”
“You never told me this. Does Anne remember?”
“I’m not sure,” Mama replies. “I had made peace with the fact that you might never speak, that you would communicate in other ways. But then, one day, you were standing on the front path, staring at Wormsloe, and you spoke three full sentences. Do you know what they were?”
There’s a lump in my throat, and dread hollows my soul. “No,” I whisper.
“You said, ‘He is in the woods. He is hurting them. They need help.’”
“What?” I rasp. “What did I mean?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. You never explained, and you never spoke of it again. You didn’t even seem to remember saying it. But after that, you could talk. And a week later, just after you turned five, you summoned your first demon.”
“And you never mentioned it?” Tears prickle in my eyes. “You didn’t think it might be important for me to know?”
“I didn’t understand it!” She clasps my hand between both of her own. “It didn’t make sense. I asked you about it a few times, but when you didn’t remember, I stopped asking, because… because I was afraid, Sybil. Because of the story about the Barrow.”
My throat works as I try vainly to swallow the lump. “Tell me.”
“I will. But please know that I withheld this out of love. Even if I’d told you sooner, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”
When I don’t reply, she says, in a quivering voice, “Once upon a time, there was a man who desperately wanted a baby boy.”