Fresh from her week of exploration and discovery from cousin Emily, and unfortunately on her own again, Isobel returns to her occupation of spying on the three randy manservants. But one of them is absent when she watches the day's fun and games--and he turns up at the worst possible moment for Isobel. Will it be eternal shame and humiliation for her--or is it time for Isobel to take control, and reveal her real self?
Note: This erotic interlude includes explicit sex and debauchery, and is intended for 18+ audiences. It is part 2 of the "Isobel's Fancy" series.
---------------------
Excerpt:
Her fingers continued their journey down into her hot, moist sex, the tiny bit of flesh that Emily had made feel like unending miles of unexplored territory, an entire colony of infinite feeling. Her forefinger ran just on the underside of the first fold of skin, little bursts of lightning flying from her fanny—yes, another word she had learned from Emily—to her chest, her heart beating like a parade-drum in response.
Yes—Eliot was—was Bernard hurting him? One could never tell with boys, but Bernard was thrusting himself with such ferocity, such wildness, that surely Eliot could not enjoy it. Of course, she never thought she would enjoy the taste of another woman before—
Her fingers knew where they were going far better now. The tentative fumbling of a week ago was no more; she knew exactly how she liked to touch her hard, swelling little bud, and she gasped a little as she found it, just the spot. Her other hand returned to her breast, squeezing it hard enough to hurt, but also to release a little extra pleasure.
There was a grunt—a half-shout, perhaps—from below, and Isobel’s eyes opened. Yes, Eliot had freed an arm, was pushing Bernard away, or trying to, but Bernard was in a frenzy. He rolled off Eliot, gripping himself and stroking his cock hard, his hand a blur, and—
Isobel froze—she loved this, the little cannon-fire, the little—
“Oh!” Eliot said, and Bernard released, spraying his chest, his neck, with the whitish fluid of his issue, little glistening droplets coating Eliot up and down. Bernard froze above him, cock still thick and hard in his hand, a grimace plastered to his face. To Isobel’s relief, Eliot was smiling. He was all—
A bump, to her left, far away but too close—
She felt around on the ground. There was her petticoat, but—had she moved? The dimness in the passage had somehow become a sinister, confusing blackness—
—yes, the bump had been in the cupboard, and to her horror there was a sliver of light, then a square, then a figure—
—who—
—she clutched again and found her underclothes. But where on earth had her blouse, her frock—
The figure had closed the door behind him, yes, it was a he, his heavy steps falling on the bare wooden floor of the passage like earthquakes.
She had no choice now but to try to cover herself up as best she could. If she ran, she would be naked in the servants’ hallway, and better to be discovered by one person than an entire—
There was a low chuckle. “I thought so,” the soft, masculine voice said.
advertisement