Chapter 20
Alfred
Iwill do anything to please her. I want her approval, her admiration, so badly that my chest aches with the force of it.
“Tell me what you want,” I say to her.
“I want you behind me,” she says, a sly smile unfolding on her face.
My pulse quickens. I am not sure what she means.
But I am very intrigued.
My cock begins to swell again—at her suggestion and at the tantalizing sight she makes before me.
Her unbound hair falls over her shoulders, a sliding butter-yellow on the pale silk of her skin, and then the darker triangle of hair between her legs where I know heaven awaits.
Her smile has the same quick steel of a paring knife.
And I know if she pricks me, I will bleed.
She turns from me on the bed and splays herself on all fours.
“You enter my quim as you have already done, but from behind.”
I have seen curs on the streets of London couple in this way. I had not thought that men and women did such things.
“Are you—do you mean—I should right now?”
“Yes,” she says. “Your cock seems more than equal to the task.”
I pause. I don’t know if the words are an admonishment or not. I know my desire is probably too keen.
“I am sorry. I cannot help—how much I want you.”
She laughs. Her sweet laugh. The laugh that makes her seem younger than she is.
“I am not scolding you, Alfred.”
“Oh.” I am transfixed by the sight of her bare, ample ass before me. It makes me want to try her suggestion very badly. “Are you ready?”
“You can feel for yourself if you would like.”
I very much would like that. But I am not sure if I am bold enough.
I hesitate.
“Do you really mean—can I really?”
“If you don’t touch me or fuck me soon, Alfred, I will grow cross. You risk your position.”
I shouldn’t like the threat. But I do. It makes action easy. Even if I no longer quite believe the threat.
I crawl towards her. I bring my fingers to her quim and touch inside of her. I feel how wet she is, how she slides against my fingers. She gasps at the action and it gratifies me.
“Do you see,” she says, “how ready I am for you?”
“Yes,” I gasp.
I cannot stop touching her in this way, even though I want to plunge myself inside of her desperately.
I am hypnotized by the sight of my fingers entering her, disappearing into her sweetness, and then emerging once more wet and glistening.
She whimpers as I move my fingers in and out of her, rocking back to give me better purchase.
I never thought a woman would let me touch her in such a way. And certainly not a woman like Annabelle, so beautiful and commanding and strong. I continue to touch her until she is sopping wet on my hand and her moans fill the room.
“Alfred,” she scolds, her voice taut. “Enough.”
At this point I am comically hard, leaking seed onto the counterpane. I fear being able to control my spend in this position, but I have no idea how I can refuse her now. Not when I want to take her like this so badly. And when I have made her so very ready for me with my fingers.
“Enter me,” she commands. “Please do as I ask.”
With great effort, I remove my hand from her pussy and align myself with her backside.
“Like this?” I ask, guiding my cock to her wet quim.
“Yes, dear God,” she replies, her irritation evident. But I am too lightheaded with arousal to be bothered by her exasperation.
I place the head of my cock just inside her quim, pushing in only a little, and she gasps.
“Like this?”
“Yes, Alfred, please. I need all of you. Now.”
I thrust into her further, impaling her. Her tight walls constrict around me.
“Fuck,” she murmurs.
“I am too large.” I am ashamed that she must adjust for me—that I must be uncomfortable for her.
“I will survive, I assure you. Now you must move.”
I thrust until I am totally inside of her. She lets out a throaty, guttural moan.
“Move, please,” she repeats.
I withdraw a bit and felt the searing pleasure of her play on my cock.
The sensation is different than the other positions that we have tried. I immensely enjoy the beautiful view of her shapely ass and the long, elegant line of her smooth back. She is not a small woman, and her bountifulness does terrible things to me.
However, it is immediately clear to me that I will have trouble controlling myself.
This angle makes it very difficult to remember that I am not supposed to spend inside of her.
That I have promised her to withdraw. I don’t want to give her the inconvenience of a child.
And I cannot bear to imagine having a child by her—and having no claim to her or the babe.
I remind myself of this fact, severely, even as pleasure forces itself down my cock and through my entire body.
“Annabelle,” I say. “You feel so wonderful. Your quim—I could die here.”
She lets out a ragged moan at my words.
“Harder,” she commands.
I have to agree. There is something about this position that makes me wild and unchecked.
I pound into her, delighting in the sensation, but I worry that I am hurting her.
“Are you all right? Is this all right?” I ask.
“Yes.” She responds. “Please harder.”
I obey intuitively, pulling her against me, thrusting in and out. My spend builds in my spine, threatening already.
“Annabelle. I must withdraw—” I try to warn her.
But she moans. “No. You may not.”
I am not sure what to do. Everything in my body wants to keep fucking her, but there is only so much time before I will inevitably spend.
“I am close. If you withdraw, Alfred, you will find yourself without a post.”
“Fuck, Annabelle,” I swear, horribly aroused by her command—by her threat even. And I don’t need more arousal.
But I cannot disobey her. No part of me can.
I keep pounding in and out of her, filling her up, feeling her constrict over me.
My seed threatens to spring from me now. I am not at all certain of my ability to stop from spilling.
“Annabelle,” I warn her one more time. “I am—I am—I am—”
Her cunt is so tight on me that she must be close.
“No. You are not.”
And then she cries, screaming out. Her quim spasms hard on my cock—and it is the most exquisite sensation I have ever felt.
And then I am coming. The pleasure is the most intense of my life.
In this moment, I feel that I am meant to fill this woman with my seed. I am meant to be hers. I am meant to be here in this blinding moment of pleasure. God in his providence has intended it for me.
And that warm feeling, that one I have only gotten rarely during prayer, that has been the fuel of my belief, glows through me.
I know that God himself is in this bedchamber.
That rather than shame me or condemn me for my actions, it is bringing me closer to him.
I clasp my hands around her hips and empty my seed into her tight, perfect quim.
For a moment, the heavens and the earth are aligned.
And then I realize what I am doing.
With a shout, I withdraw.
Seed spills from my cock onto the counterpane—but it is clear that I spent half inside her.
I did exactly what I promised her I would not.
Fear spikes through me.
“Annabelle—" I gasp. “I am so sorry—I lost—fuck—”
“What?” Her voice sounds foggy from her own orgasm. “God, Alfred, your cock is heaven.”
“I didn’t withdraw.”
She rights herself and spins around towards me. She reaches inside of herself.
“I am so sorry, Annabelle. Please. It was a mistake.”
Despite the absolute transcendence of moments before, I now feel like the most inept man who has ever lived.
“I am sorry,” I repeat.
“No apologies, Alfred,” she says, smiling. “I have told you that it is no concern to me.”
My heart rate slows.
I am relieved that she does not seem upset. That, really, she is secure that she won’t get with child.
“Very well,” I say. “But if you do get with child, you will tell me?”
She looks at me now, her eyes narrowing.
“Why would I do such a thing as that?”
“I would hate not to know my own child,” I say. “I very much want to be a father. One day.”
“I make no such promises,” she snaps. “I do not owe you that. Must I remind you again that you are not in control here?”
“I cannot force you. I merely ask for your consideration.”
She gives only a stiff nod in reply.
The beautiful intimacy of our evening together is at an end, I can see that. And I am not sure how I could have gone so quickly from the most joyful moment of my entire existence—to this sense of cold shame.
Regardless, the spell between us has broken.
She is already dressing. And I know that I should do the same.
The hour is late. I must return to the vicarage or risk being discovered.
And yet I do not want to leave her. I want to stay here with her. I want to hold her as my own until the morning. But such things are not possible. So I merely stand there naked, vulnerable, wishing that she would come closer as I watch her dress.
“I return to London soon, Alfred. A week or two if I can manage it. In the meantime, I will be busy with my arrangements,” she says, not looking at me. “I will only call you to me once or twice more. It will be all I have time for. It is not wise for me to stay here.”
Of course, I understand the threats to her safety.
The men here are more than menacing—it is only a slight exaggeration to say that they hunt her. But the idea that she would leave Trescott and never come back slices through me with an echoing, ruining pain.
“Must you leave? Could we not extend our arrangement?”
“Alfred. We have no arrangement. I am using you for my own pleasure. I am disgracing you.”
“I do not feel that way, Annabelle. I do not feel disgrace when I am with you.”
“You are a fool then. Anyone who discovered our relation would only see your shame—and my infamy. Our paths will never cross again once I depart for London. I will not be returning to Trescott for a long time.”
“I travel to London. I have friends there. I could visit you.”
“Alfred, I do not want such a thing.”
I am begging. I know that. I realize that I am horrifically attached to her. I see that now.
Before I was distracted by what she allowed me to experience, how she freed me from the constraints on my body.
Of course, such a feeling could not be mutual.
But I am used to regarding her as powerful and indifferent to me. It is not an affront, because she is meant to be above me. The truth is that I will take any scrap I can obtain from her.
“Please,” I say, tendering the only plea I can. “Stay while I dress. I want to bid you adieu properly.”
For a moment, I think she will refuse. But she does not move to leave.
I dress as quickly as I can while she watches. When I look up, her blue eyes are filled with some expression I can’t fathom. I approach her.
“May I embrace you?” I ask.
“Very well,” she says stiffly.
I take her in my arms. She does not melt into me as I would like. But she also does not refuse me. I need her nearness so much that I don’t care. I kiss her forehead.
“Until you call me next,” I say with a whisper. Inhaling her scent like a dying man gasping for breath, I let her faintly vanilla aroma seduce me afresh.
And then I force myself to turn and leave.