Chapter 3
“Delightful. Keep those legs spread.”
Lydia gasped and pinned her knees together. “Chamberlayne!” she cried, mortified to be discovered in such a compromising position — though he’d seen and used her in a far more lewd manner with his fellow officers six weeks before.
Denny made his way from the floor to sit beside Lydia on the bed. “I got her first again,” he said with a sly smile.
Chamberlayne, the man nearest in age to Lydia of all the officers she’d known in Meryton, took the place on Lydia’s other side and laid himself next to her.
His handsome, somewhat pretty face was so near.
Oh, the larks they’d had before her marriage: Chamberlayne dressed in a woman’s gown, fooling Denny and Wickham until Lydia’s uncontrollable giggles gave the game away.
Lydia had a fondness for all officers in scarlet coats, but some made a more lasting impression than others.
Those nights of charades and spontaneous country dances at the Forster’s residence were among the memories she treasured most from that eventful time in Meryton, right before everything changed.
“That may be the case,” said Chamberlayne, tenderly brushing a curl from Lydia’s face, “but I plan to make her cunny weep the hardest.”
“Captain!” cried Lydia in mock horror.
“Oh, Miss Bennet, I do apologize for offending your delicate sensibilities,” he said in the falsetto he’d adopted when dressed as a lady.
“I say, I’m also a captain!” cried Denny, sliding his hand into Lydia’s bodice and capturing a nipple between his fingers. “Which of us do you seek to castigate, Miss Bennet?”
Lydia giggled. This was her favorite place to be: between two or more officers.
“What brings you here, Chamberlayne?” asked Denny, feeling about for Lydia’s other nipple while Chamberlayne trailed a hand up her thigh.
“Oh, just delivering a basket to poor Mrs. Webb, and I heard curious cries from this cottage! I thought to myself, is that a newborn animal? Might it need help?” he trilled in that high-pitched voice that never failed to make Lydia giggle.
“And then I smelled the most delightful honeysuckle and decided I must have a taste of her nectar!”
“Honeysuckles aren’t girls,” chided Lydia.
“I beg to differ,” said Chamberlayne, giving her a wink. “This one is.”
A yell from belowstairs interrupted their conversation, and Denny’s hand stilled. “What’s going on down there? I mean to have the truth.”
“Wouldn’t I like to know what’s happening down there,” Chamberlayne said flirtatiously, trailing his fingers up Lydia’s thigh.
“The truth,” said Lydia.
“Wickham offered a second man the chance to stake him in the game, and I found myself eager to help him play tonight,” said Chamberlayne.
Lydia’s blood ran cold. It wasn’t enough for Wickham to wager her or even offer her to one man for a frolic before the game; now he was attempting to send any number of men to slake their lust on her?
He was no better than a procurer. And that made Lydia…
Her next breath was naught but a shudder, the air barely able to pass the place she felt her neck was closing.
“Shhh, darling,” said Chamberlayne, laying a comforting hand on her belly.
“But he’s—he’s selling me, over and over, he’s selling me. And he doesn’t appear to have any intention of stopping!” she cried.
Chamberlayne studied her face, his eyes soft and sad, as if he wished to say the truth: Lydia had returned to that man, even after he’d lost her to three officers, two of whom were in the room right now.
Six weeks ago, when offered the chance to stay with the men, she’d thought returning to her husband would ensure she remained respectable enough to see her family and move about Meryton with her head held high.
But what Wickham was doing tonight was a far cry from losing her at a private game between officers. Word would spread like a spark to thatch. Her participation in polite society was over.
“Ah, Lydia, you’ll break m’ heart looking so sad,” said Chamberlayne softly. “We should play a game. Like old times. Something diverting.”
Lydia patted the dear man on the cheek, feeling many times her age.
“I’m not feeling up to games,” she said, her voice flat.
“Wickham is playing enough for both of us.” And then her questions burst forth.
“Where does it end? His cruelty. Will he resort to offering me for threepenny uprights on the high street?”
“Now, Lydia, how do you know those words?” asked Denny, his expression stern.
“I read,” she said with a sniff.
“What kind of books talk about such things, hmm?” asked Chamberlayne, giving her a soft pinch on the hip.
“Books of a most educational nature!” she protested.
“Tell me about the education you seek,” said Denny lowly.
“Would you like to share what you’ve learned?” asked Chamberlayne.
Their aim was transparent enough: they sought to distract Lydia from those questions none of them could answer about what Wickham might do in the future.
She felt a swell of something tender; they did not blame her for Wickham’s increasingly bad behavior.
Instead, they simply did what they could to shield her from it.
But for how long would they continue to look after a woman who couldn’t seem to look after herself?
“It was a very informative book! Moral, even, some might say!”
“Was it, now?” asked Denny, undoing a string within her bodice and watching as the neckline lowered before his hungry eyes.
“Yes, you see, a young lady is seduced and forced to enter into, well, she must sell herself. For her bread,” said Lydia, distracted when Chamberlayne continued his exploration of her thighs.
“Poor sweet girl,” said Chamberlayne softly. “How does the story end?”
Lydia struggled to recall. In truth, she mostly remembered slamming the book shut and throwing it towards the fire in a fit of pique when she’d read the tragic ending (only to pluck the thing out of the grate when she recalled some of the more sensual scenes she’d enjoyed).
“I believe she lives happily ever after and experiences untold bliss at the hands of several officers,” she said, lying through her teeth.
“That doesn’t sound like any books I know,” mused Denny as he tugged at one of Lydia’s nipples. “How about you, William?”
Chamberlayne stroked his chin as if trying to recall the tale. “Now that you mention it, Miss Bennet, I think I know this book!”
“Do you?” asked Lydia, taken aback that she’d somehow lied and not been caught.
“Yes, I remember it well. A tortured heroine?”
His fingers brushed over the seam of her quim, sliding through the slickness coating her cunny lips after Denny’s thorough licking.
“Yes, oh yes, that’s it,” she said.
“And then she ends up in a terrible situation. It seems all hope is lost.”
“That’s the one,” she said, holding in a gasp when Chamberlayne tested her channel with one of his thick digits. She bore down on him when she recalled the size of his impressive cock.
“And then her lovers arrive, and they make her cunny weep with pleasure,” he said, now working with Denny to pull the dress from her body and over her head.
“Pleasure…” she echoed, distracted by all the movement.
“Yes, and then she learns how to sit upon a man’s mouth and ride him to her bliss,” said Chamberlayne, gently directing her naked limbs with the help of Denny so that she was astride his chest before she knew what happened.
Her quim rested on his uniform jacket, one of his buttons on the nub between her cunny lips. It felt indecent to be undressed and have her legs spread so that Chamberlayne might look down and see her there — though Denny had been even closer.
“I wish I could feel how wet you are against my skin,” moaned Chamberlayne, his body moving as he bucked his hips, seemingly without realizing what he was doing.
Lydia’s cheeks heated and her breath shuddered as she experienced a potent combination of shock and desire.
“Looking down and seeing your little cleft split for me, fuck,” swore Chamberlayne, grabbing her arse and pressing his chest up.
Feeling him writhe and rock below her was pleasant, but it wasn’t putting pressure on the places she needed it most.
“Why don’t you let William taste you like the heroine in that novel?” asked Denny.
“The heroine…” She was too distracted by sensation to even talk. These men were impossible!
Denny showed her how to shuffle her legs up so she could move towards Chamberlayne’s mouth. William’s lips looked full, his eyes hungry.
“Put that cunny on me, love,” said Chamberlayne, his hands moving to her waist to help draw Lydia forward despite her tentativeness.
When Lydia’s quim hovered right over his mouth, he pulled her down and licked a wide, hot stripe from her hole to her nub.
Lydia thought she might fall, such was the astonishing feeling of being sucked from this position. Denny supported her shoulders so that she remained upright.
“Fare thee well?” he asked softly, studying her carefully. “You know we will cease our onslaught if you say scarlet, same as at our last gathering, do you not?”
“Yes,” panted Lydia, “yes.” His consideration was made sweeter by the contrast with Wickham’s villainy. But she resolved to set her husband aside for now; he’d ruined enough, and she wished to enjoy this stolen moment!
Chamberlayne worked relentlessly, swirling his tongue as he moved Lydia over his mouth like she was naught but a doll. He sucked at her nub, then released it quickly before she crested, dratted man.
“Doesn’t our Lydia have the hottest little cunt?” asked Denny, smirking and ducking to apply his lips to her nipple.
Lydia gasped, her thighs attempting to squeeze together when she felt the combined force of her officers’ lips and tongues on those very sensitive places.
Chamberlayne grunted as her legs pressed to his ears. She sought to move back for fear of hurting him, but he only pulled her closer to his mouth.
An invisible string running from her breast to her core grew ever tighter as the men worked her body together. Was this what she had given up? The indescribable bliss of double pleasure? She’d chosen to haul water for Wickham when she could have been kept wet by adoring officers?
“Honeysuckle, what I wouldn’t give to have a hand on m’ cock,” moaned Chamberlayne before returning to tonguing the entrance of her channel.
That dear man was licking her so well that Lydia, though unsure about the mechanics, tentatively leaned back so she could trail a hand behind her in search of William’s clothed shaft.
“That’s it,” murmured Denny, pulling from her nipple so he could help guide her hand. “That’s our generous girl.”
Together, their hands traveled over Chamberlayne’s thick thighs and settled on the sizable bulge in his breeches.
“You remember that cock?” asked Denny as he helped her trembling fingers open the buttons of Chamberlayne’s falls. “You want to feel it again?”
“Please,” she gasped, Chamberlayne sucking relentlessly at her nub in encouragement.
“Almost there,” said Denny, guiding Lydia to the band of Chamberlayne’s smalls. “It’s yours for the taking.”
Lydia slid her fingertips past the band before she realized they might play a most diverting game. She pulled her hand back up to Chamberlayne’s navel.
“I’m afraid my arm is too short to reach,” she said in a pitiful voice. “You’ll have to help me.”
Denny’s face went blank, and then he broke into a laugh. “I’d almost forgotten what a playful minx you are, Lydia,” he said, placing his palm over the back of her hand and guiding her into his fellow officer’s smallclothes. “Do you recall how you used to play?”
It was an innocent question, but Lydia was taken back to the girl she had once been, and she felt immeasurable sadness. But she’d never survive unless she resolutely chose to be cheerful, especially now that she had two handsome officers diverting her attention so pleasurably.
“I certainly never played like this!” she said, letting her callused digits trail over Chamberlayne’s heavy cock in his smalls. Denny’s hand remained over hers, aiding as she tried to circle her fingers around Chamberlayne’s shaft.
“Urnf,” moaned Chamberlayne into Lydia’s cunny, the vibrations reaching deep within her. “I like it rough.”
Lydia stilled as she fought to remain upright even as paroxysm approached.
“More,” said Chamberlayne, earning a whimper from Lydia as she bucked on his lusty tongue. “Those rough hands will drain m’ cods good.”
Lydia gasped, about to give him a set down for pointing out her work-roughened hands.
“I’ll handle this, sweetheart,” said Denny, gently removing Lydia’s hand from Chamberlayne’s cock and directing her forward so she could attend to riding his fellow officer’s skilled mouth.
But wouldn’t that leave William aching? Poor man, he deserved to feel pleasure such as he was giving her.
Lydia looked behind herself, thinking she would try to stroke him again when she discovered that Denny had taken over the task most competently, running his hand from the base of Chamberlayne’s cock to its leaking tip and back down again.
“Oh heavens,” said Lydia, overcome at the eroticism of the sight and planting her hands well above Chamberlayne’s head on the bed so she might be supported as these clever officers drowned her in pleasure.
On and on Chamberlayne laved his tongue over her spread cunny as she writhed on him.
“You’re teasing me with that hungry little hole,” said Denny, placing just a fingertip at her entrance as he continued to work Chamberlayne’s cock behind her.
“In, put it in,” begged Lydia, chasing a climax in this most unprepossessing room.
Denny didn’t hesitate; he slid two fingers into her cunt, twisting as he brought them in and out, his pace as relentless as Chamberlayne’s sucking and licking.
Lydia’s release had the force of a town coach, and she had to come to her elbows to brace and keep herself from collapsing on Chamberlayne’s mouth.
The man himself seemed not to mind the risk of suffocating in her cunny, and he pulled Lydia down by the hips so he could run his nose over those places that made her shake uncontrollably.
The door to the room slammed shut once more, and Lydia came to her knees in surprise, Chamberlayne still between her thighs and Denny yet jerking his fellow officer’s cock if the noises behind her were any indication.
“We’ve a problem,” said Major Carter of the regulars, the last of the three officers who had used her at the Forster’s old house six weeks ago. “Men coming up the stairs, determined to watch. I need you two on the door.”