Chapter 4
The venison had been perfectly cooked, the syllabub divine. Lord Edward Richard Stone recognized that he’d soon pay for the luxurious filling of his belly with the draining of his balls. Thankfully, he was well used to such trades and enjoyed them.
“You served in the cavalry? Peninsular War?” asked Baron Dalpole, pouring brandy at a sideboard for both of them in the dining room a few minutes after the lady of the house had retired to the drawing room.
“I did, with my faithful steed, Tencendor,” said Edward, accepting the glass of fine liquor no doubt carried back from France by the baron personally after Waterloo.
It had the taste of victory, and he couldn’t help but enjoy drinking such a quality blend again.
“And we are all thankful for your service under the command of the Beau,” referring to one of the Duke of Wellington’s many nicknames.
The baron offered a cigar, but Edward declined, wishing to avoid offending the enceinte lady’s senses when he inevitably got close to her later.
“Old Nosey has done the nation proud, and I’m pleased to have served under him, despite some losses of a more personal nature,” said the baron, flicking his fingernail at that distinctive glass eye resulting from battle.
The men stretched out in their chairs and enjoyed the fine liquor and companionable peace. They’d not interacted socially other than brief hellos at the club, but the smoke from the baron’s cigar settled over them like dusk on those battlefields they’d both survived, more or less intact.
The baron eventually stood, removing the chamber pot from a cabinet at the side of the room. As he relieved himself, he spoke.
“I worried war wounds might prevent me from getting Charlotte in a breeding state, if I may be so indelicate,” he said as he pissed into the pot. “You see, I suffered grievous injury to my person. More than just the eye.”
Edward realized that the baron meant for him to look up and regard his exposed piece. The man’s cock seemed perfectly functional, but what remained of his sack appeared to be a tangled mass of scar tissue with additional scarring on his upper thigh.
“Gesù, I’d fight Boney again for causing that,” said Edward, nodding to the man’s organ.
“It’s a miracle I got a child on my wife, given the extent of the injuries,” said the baron, tucking himself away. “For the longest time, we assumed your services would be required if we were to have an heir.”
Edward lowered his head, uncertain about what to say to a man who had nearly been prevented from fathering his own heir by Bonaparte’s army.
“You see, some of us have given more than others,” said the baron with a sanctimonious smile.
Edward was supposed to return with acknowledgements of thanks for the man’s service, as if he too hadn’t fought bravely. He resented the unfair characterization of his own record as deficient, if not treasonous. But such was the roll of the bones.
“We have you to thank for the impending arrival,” said the baron, bouncing on his feet as if slightly nervous.
Why was he thanking Edward? And why on earth would a hero of Waterloo be nervous in his own home? It boggled the mind. He’d lost an eye, nearly lost a cock, and had the privilege of knowing Wellington himself. What could be the cause?
“If I’m truthful,” the man said, continuing to rock, “my wife and I enjoyed the idea of you breeding her so much that we apparently carried out the task ourselves despite my physical limitations.”
Few things shocked Lord Edward. By 1817, he’d seen every cutpurse and angry husband from across the metropolis. But this? It stunned him to his core. And his rapidly swelling cock.
“Is that so?” asked Edward slowly, leaning back in his chair, feeling like he should settle in for an interesting story.
***
By the time the men made their way to the drawing room, they were slapping each other on the back and talking loudly enough to wake the nursery, had there been children yet born to the couple.
“So, you’ve seen fit to join me?” asked the baroness, looking rather agitated when they finally walked in.
“Oh, Charlotte,” said the baron, kissing his wife on the neck, “we had things to discuss.”
Her cheeks heated as the baron cradled her belly and continued caressing her before their guest. “Darling, I hardly think—”
“Fear not, love, I told Stone all about his contribution to our marriage,” said the baron, letting his hand slide up so he could cup her breast.
She was clearly struggling. Her cheeks were pink, her breaths coming fast, but the mores of the day had her moored to a standard of behavior that no longer served her. Edward needed to cut the ropes that bound this fine woman to an outmoded way of life.
“If you’ll permit me, madam,” he said, advancing to the other side of her body and reaching for the breast her husband wasn’t stroking. “I can’t help but think you’d be more comfortable with less restriction of your person.”
Edward took down the straps of her dress and chemise, then watched as her straining breasts spilled out of the top of her corset. Ahh, the things he’d do to see nipples like those daily; they were the stuff of dreams. He gently plucked at the peak and smiled when she moaned in response.
“You see, when you’re in a breeding state, these fine bubbies will swell with milk,” said Edward, slanting her a serious look.
“When I’m…”
She didn’t yet understand the game they were playing. He’d have to be clearer.
“Yes, you see, after I breed you, your breasts will grow so you might nurse the resulting child. Your husband’s heir.”
“Oh,” sighed Charlotte, her lids lowering as her husband took down the other side of her dress.
“You don’t mind, do you, darling?” asked the baron. “That I told Stone about my injury during the war? And our unsuccessful attempts to have a child?”
She was wobbling on her evening slippers in the drawing room with two war heroes fondling her bosom and discussing activities that, if truly carried out, would bring her considerable pleasure. It was only natural that Charlotte was slow to respond.
“My greatest dream is a child,” she said, catching on and playing along. “Would that we had been so blessed, George.”
Both men were careful of her belly as they walked her back to the chaise longue that seemed to be just long enough for the three of them.
“I mean to give you everything you desire, Charlotte,” the baron said, kissing down the side of her neck. “Even if I can’t be the one to deliver it personally.”
When Edward applied his mouth to her nipple, the baroness let out a moan that had him hard and ready. He never thought he would just play at breeding a lady, but it didn’t offend him.
He pulled off that delicious tip and licked all around the areola while sliding a hand to her delicate ankle. “May I assess whether you are ready for breeding, Baroness?”
She leaned back against her husband for support and spread her legs slightly so Edward could slide his fingers up her trembling thigh and brush over the thatch of curls that proved dewy.
“No drawers?” he asked appreciatively.
“She never adopted that custom,” said the baron boastfully. “Lets me lift her skirts any time I wish to make another fruitless attempt at an heir. I’ve taken her in every room, on every surface, trying to fill her belly. ‘Fraid you’ll have to step in, my man.”
“I’ll be happy to slide in and assist an otherwise happy couple,” said Edward, trailing his fingers over Charlotte’s pouting cunny lips and then teasing the entrance of her wet, welcoming hole.
“Are you willing to let Dick Stone breed you, darling?” asked the baron, as if they weren’t already all in agreement that the man’s siring service was the best thing to happen to London this century.
“I don’t know, George,” she said, blinking her eyes exaggeratedly. “I’ve never taken another man before. You know I came to you a maiden.”
Playing innocent, she exposed her breasts, and desire swelled her lips. It was just the thing to get Lord Edward Richard Stone’s cock harder than, well, stone.
“Think of the children we’ll finally have, Charlotte,” said the baron, stroking her swollen belly comfortingly. “Do say you’ll bear it. For me.”
“Yes, oh yes,” she sighed when Edward pushed his fingers into her wet, willing cunt. “I’ll bear it, but only for you, my love.”
Had she been an actress before her marriage? Or were all women so adept at disguising themselves and their desires?
One thing she couldn’t disguise was how aroused she was by their little parlour game; her cunny was sopping wet and pulsing around his fingers, as if she was just as close to eruption as he was.
“May I insert my breeding organ, madam?” asked Edward in his most professional tone. Meanwhile, he was one wrong tug of his breeches across his cock from releasing seed that might otherwise lend a sense of occasion to the evening’s entertainment.
“If you must, sir,” said the baroness, as if she only accepted his offer because of noble forbearance.
In opposition to her words, she hurriedly scooted to recline more fully against her husband and spread for Edward.
The baron held his wife, one hand cradling her belly and the other absently plucking at her nipple as he watched Edward bring her hems up.
“She’s got a pretty cunt, doesn’t she?” the baron asked, rubbing her soft body.
Edward had to squint so as not to take in too much of that perfect cunny at once. She appeared swollen and dark pink, smeared with her arousal, and he doubted he could hold back much longer before plunging in and losing himself in that channel.
“She’s beautiful,” said Edward, stroking the top of the lady’s thigh appreciatively. “If you don’t mind, madam?”
He gestured to his breeches, which he was hastily unbuttoning and pulling down so his celebrated cock could be free to play at breeding her.
“You may, but please; I take no pleasure from this,” she said, her body’s response clearly at odds with the statement. “Work quickly and completely, but do not seek to bring me to paroxysm. It simply will not be possible without the loving ministrations of my husband.”
Edward took himself in hand. His cock fattened considerably from the sight before him and Charlotte’s willingness to ease into playing the role of sacrificing wife.
“I shall merely do my professional duty, madam,” he said, sliding his cock in so slowly that she began to shake and bounce in order to get it deeper, faster.
Oh, he had to draw upon every power under his control not to lose himself within her immediately. Her cunt had a strong, milking grip, and she began spasming around him almost as soon as he pushed fully in.
He needed to let loose, but he was nothing if not a professional, so the lady needed to reach paroxysm. He had heard her words of denial, but those twitching hips and throaty cries said everything. She wanted to reach the heights of pleasure.
Edward nodded to the baron, and they coordinated to stroke Charlotte at the same time, George at her sensitive nipple and Edward on her straining nub.
The baroness’s wails grew more extravagant, the strength of her inner tremors increased, and Edward was hanging on to the contents of his sack by the last shreds of his status as a gentleman.
“Oh, he’s going to breed me, fill me!” she cried, the wet sound of their coupling only increasing the illicit pleasure of it.
“Take him deep, darling,” said the baron, his face trying to remain grim despite the lust that made him beam when he temporarily forgot his role. “I know it’s hard, my love, but let the stud flood your womb and give us a child. Bear it a little longer.”
Edward delivered a stroke to the woman’s cunny that finally made her scream as she contracted and spasmed around his taxed cock. He let out a cry as his sack drove forth seed that would land fruitlessly, and his spine tingled so much he wondered if a tail had sprouted from the force of his orgasm.
Edward worked his cock in and out a few times to fully deliver the seed. The sounds of their coupling were wetter than ever, and the baron had a look of aroused hunger as he watched Edward’s wet shaft disappear into his wife.
When he was confident that he had executed the task up to his self-imposed standard, Edward released himself from the lady’s clasp.
“I thank you for your willing participation in the breeding, madam. I hope to send felicitations on an heir in due course.”
The baron left his wife on the chaise and rose to see Edward out.
“You’ve given the wife quite a thrill, old chap,” said the baron, withdrawing a slip of paper from his coat. “No need to delay handing this over since we’re assured of an heir.”
Lord Edward glanced at what turned out to be a bank draft. A bank draft for a sum he hadn’t expected to see for a mere playful breeding.
“I was wondering if you might be amenable to a continuation of this evening’s entertainment,” said the baron, his voice low as he filled Edward in on the details of what he was envisioning.
After their tête-à-tête and before he departed the drawing room, Edward looked back to where the baroness reclined on the chaise.
By then, the baron had returned to her, kneeling on the floor between her spread legs, one hand holding up her hems and the other parting her cunny lips so he could apply his mouth to where she’d been taken by Edward and his prodigious spend.
He exited the room quickly. It would be a hard ride home.