Chapter 5 Annabelle
Annabelle
“Mr. Saintsbury, you have a cockstand,” I repeat, shock and delight rioting through me.
A large cockstand.
I chose the right man to seduce. A pretty man and a large cock. I commend myself. I always did have excellent taste. He will serve perfectly as a sire.
When I saw Mr. Saintsbury at the Ludlow cottage, I resolved upon laying the groundwork of seduction during this carriage ride. But no such groundwork appears necessary.
This cockstand settles the question of whether he is attracted to me.
“I—my apologies, Miss de Lacey,” the man finally manages.
I smile. I actually smile. It is not a sneer, or a smirk, but a smile. A man who isn’t Mr. Ludlow hasn’t made me smile in a very, very long time.
But it isn’t possible to avoid smiling when this stammering, pretty man with a massive erection looks so helpless before me.
“Mr. Saintsbury, I am appalled,” I say, keeping my voice low and throaty. It is a tone that, in my experience, few men can resist.
“I am very, very sorry, Miss de Lacey,” the man says, reaching for his hat. “My mortification is boundless.”
“Stop,” I command him. “Put down the hat.”
He obeys instantly, placing it back on the seat next to him.
The erection is truly huge. By God, he looks ready to pop a seam.
It is better than any chance I could have dreamed up.
“This is an appalling turn of events,” I say, masking my delight. “I should dismiss you immediately.”
“Please, Miss de Lacey, I will do anything. It is—I am sorry—I cannot help it.”
Christ Almighty, my core is pulsing. I do want him.
But this encounter cannot be about that. I need to establish control.
“Anything?” I echo.
“Yes,” he pants, looking up at me with pure, green eyes. A curl falls over his forehead and his face is flushed.
“Then you must be honest with me.”
“Yes. Of course. Whatever you wish.”
“You must tell me the truth.”
“I promise. Anything.”
“You want me very badly don’t you, Mr. Saintsbury?”
“Y-yes.”
“You find me comely?”
“God, yes.”
“How comely?”
The man is breathing hard. Good God, what have I discovered with this vicar? The sight of him in such distress has my own breath coming fast and shallow. What I will do with him…Oh, it is going to be indecent and wonderful. I will play with him before I turn him to my ultimate purpose.
“Extremely.”
“Do you want me to touch you?”
He looks at me, terror in his eyes.
“Yes. But you shouldn’t. We can’t.”
I disregard this absurd prohibition. He knows nothing.
“How would you like me to touch you?”
He moans and closes his eyes.
“Would you like me to stroke your cock?”
At these words his cock literally surges forward in his trousers.
“Would you like me to use my mouth?”
His eyes fly open.
“God forgive me.”
And then the man does something quite strange. He begins to buck ever so slightly. As if he is tupping the air.
He is rutting himself against the fabric of his own trousers.
Dear God, why not just take himself in hand?
“Stop that at once,” I order.
He moans but obeys.
“Good boy. When did you last have a woman?”
He gasps. “Never. It is a terrible sin before marriage.”
My mouth goes dry. A virgin. It is too good to be believed. I knew he must be inexperienced, but a virgin? Sweet Lord. I have never had so fine an appreciation for the church and its teachings as I do right now, I am sure.
“How often do you make yourself come?”
He shakes his head. “Never. It is wrong.”
What nonsense. No man can go completely without. He must make himself come. Or he must come in his sleep without meaning to.
“Perfect,” I murmur. Even if his statement is not accurate, he must be in some state of regular deprivation if he has sprung a cockstand so easily.
He appears willing to do anything to keep his post. But that fear can only be the beginning. I must use it to my advantage.
We have reached the vicarage. But I give a special rap on the roof that tells the coachman that I do not yet wish him to open the door.
“I am going to render you a favor, Mr. Saintsbury.”
“Thank you, Miss de Lacey,” he gasps. “I promise to never vex you again. I realize that I must seem to you a complete beast. I will leave you alone forever.”
“Oh no. That is not what I want. Not at all. I have too many uses for you. Instead I want you to do what I say. I want you to obey me.”
“Obey you?”
“Yes. I am going to show you that you don’t need touch to come. Not from your trousers or your own hand or any part of me.”
He looks perplexed.
“I cannot—I cannot—”
I am not sure of the nature of his objection. But I do not care.
“Tell me,” I say languidly. “Do you want to put that big cock in me?”
“I-I-I-”
“Be honest, Mr. Saintsbury. You promised.”
“Yes,” he chokes out.
The man looks delirious. He is wound so tight it will not take much for him to spend. I have never seen a man so taut with want.
“And when you do, what do you want me to say?”
“Say?”
He looks as if he has only just learned that people can speak when they fuck.
“Yes, what shall I say when you give me that big cock?”
His cock surges forward again. He lets out a sound between a sob and a moan.
“That’s right,” I say. “Tell me what you want me to say.”
“My—my name,” he pants. “I want you to say my name.”
“Mr. Saintsbury?” I tease.
“No,” he says, bracing his hands on the seat. “Alfred.”
“Alfred,” I whisper. “Just your name?”
“God, yes.”
“Are you sure that is all? Or should I say more? Should I say, you feel so good, Alfred? What a good boy you are. Fucking me just as I like?”
He emits a sound of impossible agony.
And then he shudders.
His eyes snap closed. He gasps so hard I fear for his life.
He has climaxed. That is clear.
From my naughty words alone.
And I have him exactly where I want him.
“You’ve compromised yourself, Mr. Saintsbury,” I say. “Quite horribly.”
His eyes fly open.
“You are going to dismiss me? Now?”
“Oh no, Mr. Saintsbury. I am everything they say I am. A harlot. A slattern. The devil herself. I am sure you have heard the talk. In the village. In London. Everywhere. The Whore of Trescott Abbey, I believe they call me. And they are right. I am more blackhearted and depraved than any man in England.”
“I don’t understand.”
His eyes still look dreamy from his orgasm. A pretty man. Yes, I will enjoy him.
And I have to ask.
“How did that feel? Your spend?”
He says nothing.
“Honesty, Mr. Saintsbury.”
He shakes his head.
“It is wicked.”
“I don’t care. Tell me.”
“Wonderful. So good. The devil is talented.”
I stifle my own gasp of pleasure. I need to maintain control. No matter how gratifying it is to hear such words.
“Yes,” I smile. “I am.”
“I did not mean you.”
“Well, you should have. Because no one but me was responsible for what you just experienced.”
“It is a sin. I will be punished for it.”
I sigh. Really, such talk is quite tiresome.
“No more of that particular style of tedium, Mr. Saintsbury. Listen to me. If you leave your post, I will tell everyone in Christendom about what you just did in front of me in this carriage. It will be in the papers. That severe father of yours, the one who wants to be a bishop, he will read of it.”
“Why would I leave my post?” he says, panic in his voice.
“Because I am not going to let you keep it for nothing. You will buy your continued employment with your body, Mr. Saintsbury. With your services in my bedchamber.”
He blinks at me from across the carriage.
“I am sorry—I—don’t—”
“Do not play the innocent,” I snap. “You are going to be my whore. I return to London in four weeks. And until then, you will be mine whenever I desire it. You will come when I beckon. And do what I request.”
I reason that I will not need long to get with child. If the four weeks proves insufficient, then I can stay for longer. But I doubt that I will need it.
“I cannot,” he says. “It would be the most enormous sin.”
“That is your problem. I don’t believe in sin myself.
Or the hereafter. If you wanted to leave your post and save your soul, Mr. Saintsbury, you shouldn’t have gotten into my carriage.
But if you leave now and refuse my offer, I will tell everyone exactly what you have done here.
And I will have all the advantage. Because my tale will be true.
And no one knows more than me about what truth in the scandal sheets can do to a reputation. ”
Mr. Saintsbury looks at me, his mouth agape.
And then before my eyes his cock swells. Again.
“You want it,” I say. “How tragic for you. To desire what you hate.”
“Why must you torment me?”
“Oh, Mr. Saintsbury, I have not yet begun tormenting you.”
I sigh once more, affecting a calm that, in truth, I do not completely feel.
If I touch him at all, anywhere, he will come again. And the idea pleases me beyond belief. This entire exchange has me flushed and hot. I can’t help it. Moisture seeps between my legs.
“Now get out. And when I call you to the Abbey, you will come running. Like a dog to his master.”
Mr. Saintsbury looks at me and for a moment I wonder if he will refuse. If his soul is really worth that much to him.
But then he nods. Stiffly. As if he were passing me in the lane. Then he moves to exit the carriage.
“One last thing,” I say, halting his progress. “It pleases me to see you like this. So wanting. Can you come without friction? Do you come in your sleep?”
He looks at me as if I am Satan himself. For a moment, he just stares.
The next, he shakes his head.
“Good. Don’t touch yourself—or make yourself spend in any fashion—when you are alone. You will only orgasm at my command. Do you understand me? If I sense you have disobeyed me, you will lose your post.”
His eyes widen in terror.
“I have already told you I don’t—I don’t—make—touch—on my own.”
I laugh. I saw how he bucked his hips against his trousers.
“Do not lie to me, Alfred.”
At my use of his name he shudders slightly.
“Fine,” he says. “I promise. I am at your mercy.”
“Excellent. Now go.”
I watch as he gets out and lurches, stiff-legged, into the vicarage. I think of him sitting in the vicarage with a cock hard for me. The thought drives me feral with desire.
When the carriage moves again, I pull down the curtain and touch myself. I am so wet that my fingers slide seamlessly over my clit and into my channel.
Quickly, I make myself come, giving myself what I just told Saintsbury to deny himself. As I come, I think of his yearning. His deprivation.
I pull the curtain open again. I smile as the carriage passes the church.
A wonderful, terrible idea takes hold of me.
I will call for him on the Lord’s Day.
For the first time in a long time, I cannot wait for Sunday.