Chapter 7 Annabelle
Annabelle
Ihave to admit it.
The man’s self-denial moves me.
And the story about his little book.
It makes me weak with desire.
It shouldn’t.
I know the ideas behind it are rotten. He deprives himself for nothing. In pleasing a God that doesn’t exist.
Nevertheless his self-denial fills me with unaccountable, terrible desire.
I shake my head, ridding it of the pathos I feel for the man before me.
I am not here to cure him of his terrible notions.
I am here to get what I want.
To slake my own lust and to obtain my heir.
“Come here. Now,” I repeat. “Or do you forget that you keep your post at my pleasure?”
The man moves across the room slowly, his cockstand evident as it was the other day in the carriage.
“Does your green book explain how a man can please a woman with his mouth?”
He closes his eyes. Embarrassed again.
“Yes.”
“So then you know of what I speak. I will teach you how to do it. But first, I want you to see me bare.”
I am wearing a special type of dress that the whores use in London.
I bought it when my friend, Evie Colley, a part-time lightskirt, part-time spy, explained the concept to me.
The dress looks normal from the outside, but it can be undone by one person.
More importantly, it can be undone by the person wearing it.
His eyes go wide.
“Have you ever seen a woman bare?”
“No,” he says, his voice trembling.
“You won’t touch me until I tell you. And you won’t frig yourself, do you understand?”
He nods.
He must be in agony. Poor man. I will allow him to spend. Eventually.
I unhook my dress from the front. I wear no chemise, so I am quickly naked except for my stockings.
I sit back in my chair.
I meet his gaze. He looks at me with ravaged eyes. His mouth hangs slack.
“God help me,” he curses.
“There is no God here, Mr. Saintsbury. Tell me. Do you plan to marry one day?”
“Yes,” he manages, swallowing hard. His eyes are still trained on my form, however—moving from bosom to quim and then back up again in the same circuit.
“What I am about to teach you, your future wife will appreciate immensely.”
He only stares at me.
I know I am comely. But his face expresses something beyond admiration.
“Get on your knees.”
To my surprise, immediately, the man obeys.
I spread my legs.
“Do you see my quim?”
He nods. I spread my legs further and part myself with my fingers.
“Here,” I say, “is where a man puts himself. Your cock will go here.”
I put one finger inside to demonstrate.
He lets out a moan that sounds like a near-sob.
“Hush,” I say. “I will let you have it soon enough. And here,” I say, moving my hand upwards, “is my clit. That is where a woman’s pleasure is centered. For most women anyway. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Now, I want you to put your mouth on my clit. I want you to lick and suck. And occasionally, I want you to take your tongue and put it inside of me where your cock will go.”
“I will try.”
“That is all I ask. Now do it.”
He edges towards me, slowly. He looks positively mesmerized by my core. Then his lips and tongue are on me, and he is moaning into my quim.
“Shh,” I say, closing my eyes. The sensations soften me. “I will see to you. Do not worry.”
He does as he is told. He licks and sucks. It is not the most proficient cunt-lashing I have ever gotten, but it is far from the worst.
Then he gasps. And I understand what it means.
For a moment, I consider this outcome.
Will I allow him to spend in this fashion?
Quickly, I resolve on a plan.
“Do not spend,” I say, suspecting that he will not be able to obey. “Spend and you will lose your post.”
He lets out a sob and pauses.
“Do not stop. If you stop, the result will be the same as if you spend.”
He continues. But his moans are becoming wilder. I know that he will not be able to stop himself.
“You have been warned, Mr. Saintsbury,” I pant.
The truth is that I am already close myself. My orgasm rises faster than I expected.
“Put your fingers inside of me.”
He listens, raising two fingers to my entrance and thrusting. He is clumsy, but it doesn’t matter. I am so wet that he could be rougher still and I would like it.
“Now continue.”
He does and I am soon tensing around his fingers. He is moaning incoherently.
“Don’t—spend,” I say. “Ah!”
I slide my fingers into his hair, unable to stop myself from touching that thick, dark glory. I guide him lightly in the way that he needs, and it enhances my pleasure.
I come hard.
Harder than I expected.
“Good boy,” I say with a sigh once the first pleasure passes over me. “That was very good, indeed. Especially for a first try.”
Then he moans and shudders between my knees.