One Wicked Night Read online

  All love affairs were variations on that theme, I told myself, stealing another long look at Lady X. She ignored my conver­sation with Quinn, which was just as well. My few words to him were neither witty nor wise, addled as I was by her unex­pected presence.

  Perhaps Quinn understood. Waving a brush whose bristles were stiff and prickly with dried paint, he told her to step down and walk about to keep from tiring. Inwardly I gasped as she rose from her seat and arranged the folds of her gown about herself. The stuff of which it was made was not sheer, but nei­ther was it impervious to the strong light that flooded the room. Her body was outlined beneath it, curving and strong. My hands tingled, alive with my instantaneous desire to caress her all over and give her the ultimate pleasure... I nearly dropped my hat.

  Quinn, damn him, offered at that moment to take it and my coat, saying he would send his lad out for some tea for the lady and heartier refreshments for me, if I wished. I hesitated, then said yes. If I were to see the Lady X again, it was likely to be in circumstances that were far less intimate and easy. The idea of bowing and scraping to her and her distinguished husband at a ball, observing the necessary courtesies and making awkward conversation, was not at all to my liking.

  By great good fortune, I had happened to meet her here first. No one but my friend Quinn could observe what I said and did—well, there was her maid, but I supposed the girl could be bribed and did not like her Spanish master in any case.

  And perhaps the apprentice could be bribed as well to take the maid for a walk in the park—and if Quinn should happen to go out for ale and cheese at the pub on the corner, the Lady X and I might contrive to—I reminded myself that she spoke very little English.

  As it happened, matters proceeded in precisely that way, and I soon found out that Xavi knew far more than she let on...

  A month later, we became lovers, meeting first at Quinn's studio by his invitation but when he was out. He was pursuing an affair of his own with a badly behaved duchess who had sat for her portrait and taken a fancy to him. She, a former artist's model who flung off her clothes at the slightest opportunity, did not seem to mind the smell of turpentine and the splashes of paint everywhere.

  But Xaviera did, expressing her displeasure in excellent if charmingly accented English. The nuns—I write the word with a smile—had taught her well, or so she said. All to the good, as I spoke no Spanish. As I wished only to please her in every way, I made a few discreet inquiries and another friend offered the use of his house in town, an anonymous three-story build­ing on a quiet street. He asked no questions before providing me with a double set of keys, understanding without my saying so that my request must remain a private matter and no more was said. Xaviera assured me that her husband was preoccupied with intrigues of his own, both political and amorous. He would never know. I chose to believe her.

  Once she had proposed that I write a book just for her—the small volume that I mentioned—we devised our method of ex­changing it quickly enough. Xavi liked to read such tales at her leisure, preferring those I penned to all others. Thus she was al­ways prepared for me, fully aroused, rosy with lust and eager for my caresses when at last I could steal away to the secluded house to which we had the keys. The place was impeccably fur­nished but otherwise empty, as my friend never came there, preferring his mistress's apartments in Soho.

  From time to time, we made solo visits, heading straight for the locked cabinet in the library where we would leave sealed letters for each other, billets-doux with practical postscripts that set the times of our meetings in advance. The arrangement required no assistance from servants who might or might not be trustworthy, and it proved to be mutually—and highly— satisfying.

  As did the tales of lust and love that slowly filled the pages of the little book. As the months went on, I penned many sto­ries for her private amusement, some too long to fit in the book as they were written. Once edited, they were added, but I kept the longer versions as well, splotched with ink and crossed-out words—ah, here is the first of those—and the thirty-first, thrown together by chance. I will read them later.

  Xavi begged not to appear in any, by name or by descrip­tion, should she be caught while reading them and her illicit pastime revealed. If that had happened, Don Diego would be sure to express his wrath in the traditional way, tying my poor Xavi face down upon the seat of a chair that she might study the design of his carpet while he rolled up his sleeves to prepare for the necessary punishment. Of course the old brute would ignore her feminine protests, caring nothing for her dignity. Up would go her skirts and down would come his hand upon the sensitive skin of her bare bottom, chastising her in a way that would not be at all to her liking. The lady preferred such atten­tions to come from me, of course, and to be given with love and subtle consideration for her pleasure, never in anger.

  She loved to lie naked over my lap and I loved to serve as her chair, whether I was clothed or not. She pronounced herself comforted by the tight hold of my arm and warmed by my thighs, to say nothing of the immense erection trapped between them. It often took all my self-control to keep from ejaculating against her soft belly, as she bucked with the pleasure she took in a properly administered spanking.

  Xavi very much enjoyed them, and that was but one of many outré scenarios in which she delighted. For myself, red­dening her pretty bottom as she commanded me to do was an intense satisfaction as well. I endeavored to explore each one of her sexual fantasies to her satisfaction, in writing and in the flesh.

  She vowed that my stories brought her to a pitch of excite­ment that had her lifting her gown the moment I entered the house for a rendezvous. When I had tempted her well and truly, she endeavored to return the favor by tempting me with the sight of her pretty cunny and the tiny red ribbon she sometimes tied in her short curls to expose her clitoris. I loved to see its tender tip peeping out, swollen with need, as she held her skirts high and begged for me to suckle it.

  Kneeling before her, I did just that while she clutched my head and moaned with soft joy. Burying my face between her legs to savor every drop of her juice, licking and sucking with all the skill I possessed, I held and caressed her beautiful arse, squeezing her shapely buttocks. With my hands, I encouraged her to push freely against my loving mouth so that I could suck her to climax even before 1 fondled her breasts and nipples.

  My darling Xavi was shameless to a fault, wanting more and more—sometimes more than an ordinary man could give. Is it boastful to say that I always rose to the occasion? Then I will boast. I often gave her a swift orgasm to start, so that her next would be that much stronger when I thrust into her, while she lay on her back or rocked on all fours, whichever she preferred. An aroused woman is both snug and juicy, the best and most stimulating sheath for a long, thick cock like mine.

  I liked to fuck Xavi slowly at first, especially from behind, until tears of pleasure ran down her lovely face. Gently, always gently, I pulled her long black hair away from her face so I could see her cry, see the streaks upon her flushed cheeks, and how she licked them away from her panting mouth.

  It aroused me beyond belief to see her well-fleshed arse shake as her hungry cunny took me deeper, and when she began to push back, moaning like an animal, I would go faster, clasping her hips to pull her tightly against my groin, and ram hard. Her breasts bounced freely and I dropped over her back to slap them with one hand, pulling on a nipple when I could catch one, nipping her ear.

  Wanton as a cat in heat, she kept her face in a pillow to muf­fle her cries when I rose up and began again. She knew what I wanted then: for her to reach round and spread her buttocks for me as I swived on. The sight of her arsehole, pulsing and tightening in rhythm with the cunny filled up and banged hard by my unbearably stiff cock, spurred me to a dominating inten­sity that excited her to new heights. She came first, brought to ecstasy by my teasing fingers, and then I did, pounding with frantic haste, my balls no longer swinging, drawn tight between my thighs.

  St
ill, my hands craved the feel of her skin and I caressed her trembling buttocks over and over, grateful that she knew just how to brace herself against my body, crying out as each hot jet of cum spurted forth inside her. At such moments, I lost all sense of the boundaries between us... we were truly one.

  Is it any wonder I was so devoted to Lady X? She, in turn, craved my full attention. Was she devoted to me? Yes, in her way, when free time and our mutual desire coincided. In the meantime, she had the book, so small that she could keep it in a pocket concealed within each of her gowns. Since my numer­ous letters had to be returned with dispatch, it pleased me to know that its fine leather bindings were warmed by her body when she retained it, the little book swinging near her most in­timate flesh.

  When I had it in my keeping, I fancied that the very pages gave off her scent, a mixture of delicate female sweat and the smell of her cunny, the French soap she used, and even the starch that stiffened the fine linen of her petticoats.

  I envied those petticoats. Her round-cheeked arse brushed against them, sat firmly upon them, all day. When not fucking her, it was my delight to have her sit just as firmly upon my face and take my tongue deep inside for a good session of cunnilingus, which is every lady's delight. Xavi wiggled her behind while I did so, and I brought her down to enfold my face in bountiful flesh while I squeezed and caressed it—her skin was most sensitive there.

  Shyly, she sometimes asked that I slip a fingertip just inside the snug puckers of her tempting little arsehole... then go deeper... then begged to have the whole length of my finger moving in and out. Thus probed, my tongue thrusting away, she reached a strong climax within seconds, strong enough to make her cunny squeeze my tongue just as it had done to my cock.

  The sensation intrigued her and one day she requested that I stimulate only her arse and her arsehole, curious to see if she could have an orgasm in that way alone. As it turned out, she could not, but we enjoyed very great pleasure in the attempt, beginning with the softest of caresses and progressing to tin­gling slaps with one hand while the longest finger of the other probed her tender anus as deeply as she wished. My slaps had to be light enough to leave no mark. I took no chances on our being discovered. Still, I wanted to satisfy her, and well she knew it.

  How quickly Xavi learned to tease me! Employing my tech­nique upon herself at another time, she twisted round to give me a wanton look over her shoulder and licked her slender fin­ger, pulling it in and out of her mouth. Then she set her knees far apart to help spread the rosy buttocks I had just spanked... and reached to touch the little hole between them with her wet­ted fingertip. Her action sufficed to make my cock spring up to full attention. I was wild with lust, compelled to hold my rod with painful tightness and even dig my fingernails into its skin to keep from ejaculating freely at that second.

  Xavi glanced down at my cock and only shrugged, playing the role of bitch to her heart's content. But her indifference ex­cited me. Still holding my cock, I squeezed my balls hard until they ached unpleasantly, lest I shoot too soon. She only laughed, again looking at me over her shoulder.

  I looked back but only for a second. She wanted me to stare at her hot arse and what she was doing to herself, and I did. Then—oh, I was nearly undone—then Xavi pushed her slick finger well inside the snug hole, up to the second knuckle, and asked me how I liked seeing her do that.

  I made her pull her finger out and I believe she enjoyed what came next. I fucked her cunny for a full hour, my gaze focused upon her stimulated, pulsing arsehole, and my hands clasping and squeezing her womanly buttocks nearly hard enough to bruise them. Such pretty peaches—I dropped down over her back and supported myself on my hands so that her body would appear untouched to other eyes when we were done rut­ting like animals. I came again and again, three times to her four. Spent at last, I cradled her for as long as I dared.

  But I did not always have my cock in her cunny or my head between her legs or my finger up her naughty arse. When our mutual desire for each other was fully satisfied, when we had the precious gift of time, we walked and talked like all lovers, grateful for our borrowed hideaway. We preferred the over­grown garden where we could not be seen from nearby houses, or the spacious rooms downstairs if the weather was inclement. She would play the piano and sing for me—her voice was a balm to me, melodic and merry. Xavi delighted in the gossip of London, and I was rather good at representing the conversa­tions I had overheard, leaving out not a scrap of scandal.

  Some served as bawdy inspiration for the stories I penned. I marveled at how mere words could work such wonders—but then, the sensual imagination of a woman is easily stimulated by one who knows how. After each rendezvous, Xavi would sometimes ask for a particular scenario. I would write another tale or two, and leave the book or loose pages in the locked cab­inet at the house where we met, allowing her to peruse it when she could get away, and think about the fantasy until we met again.

  Imagining her slender hand slipping down to stimulate her­self while she read was a favorite fantasy of mine. I loved to think of her blushing, and then, overcome, pressing immod­estly against a sofa pillow or rubbing herself through her dress, too aroused to wait for me. Should she feel the pangs of lust too keenly, Xavi would employ an ivory rod to enjoy complete penetration while she read. I had presented her with the thing myself, an indecent but thoughtful gift, as I was sometimes away and did not want my love to yearn too long for the sexual satisfaction she craved so...

  I had left the book in the locked cabinet, our usual place, adding a few more lascivious details to a scenario that I thought we both might find highly entertaining, should it be her plea­sure to indulge me. The next day, I entered the house alone to see that the book was gone, and found a note to tell me that she would be waiting at the appointed time. When I entered the bedchamber, Xavi sat upon the chair exactly as I had requested, her back to me. Her thick black hair cascaded down in waves, left unbound and concealing for the most part the abbreviated stays she had left on at my request. Her magnificent arse was completely spread, as I had asked that she show her little hole, which I always liked to see. Her legs, clad in silk stockings that were gartered with ribbons above her knees, were set wide apart on either side of the chair. Her cunny was nestled against the cushion, as I had specified.

  Xavi glanced over her shoulder, giving me a heavy-lidded look that made it clear how aroused she already was. Not un­comfortably, she moved upon the chair and I caught a glimpse of white between her spread buttocks. She had the ivory rod in her cunny. All the way in, so deeply that I had not seen it at first.

  "Lift up, " I said. "But not all the way.”

  She obeyed, rising a few inches with one hand on the back of the chair and one hand on the base of the dildo so as to hold the head of the thing inside. The thick rod gleamed as it slid partly out, and I knew it would be hot to the touch, and slick.

  "I want you to pleasure yourself, " I whispered, "just as you do when you are all alone, with no man to satisfy you.”

  "Oh, Edward...”

  She hesitated for a second but only a second. Then Xavi slid up and down on it—never all the way down and never up enough to let it fall. I crossed the room and stood behind her, instantly erect at the sight of the big dildo in her juicy cunny, amused by how skillful she was at using it in this unusual way.

  "I would rather ride you, " she said softly, resting her cheek on the back of the chair, her voice wistful but suffused with sex­ual longing.

  Her words made me smile, but I went down on one knee be­hind her and encircled the dildo's base with my fingers, holding it in a fist. "Not yet.” The thing was indeed hot, and so slippery it was difficult to hold onto. I wanted her to slide up and down again, pound her arse and cunny against my fist, moving at the precise tempo that excited her to a frenzy. And I wanted to watch from this vantage point, nearly as close as if I were actu­ally doing the fucking. "Show me how you ride, my love. Go as hard and as fast as you like.”

  I press
ed kisses upon her buttocks, nipping her here and there. Xavi sighed with renewed pleasure and slid down again. And again. And again. She seemed to very much enjoy the sen­sual pressure of my large fist against her nether regions as she came down. I held on to the ivory rod that was privileged to enter her cunny, relishing the sweet softness of her buttocks as they touched my hand upon each downward stroke. My fin­gers were wet from her flowing juices and I grasped the dildo harder, enjoying the odd illusion of jerking off inside her—I sometimes liked to bring myself to a punishing orgasm in this way—yet my stiff cock was still trapped within my breeches.

  She began to cry out and her downward thrusts upon the dildo were faster... and faster still. Taking it as deeply as she was, there was no longer need for her to hold its base. Oblivi­ous to everything but her onrushing orgasm, Xavi lightly pulled and pinched at her clitoris to stimulate herself. I had seen her do this many times and my arousal always matched her own, understanding that her little rod experienced the same in­tense sensations as my much larger organ.

  Pulling on her clitoris harder now, she breathed raggedly. I knew she liked to do this in a mirror where she could observe her arousal, see the bit of flesh rolled between her fingertips and imagine herself ejaculating like me. I could just feel her busy fingertips touch my fist with every little tug and I steadied her, slipping my free hand under the short corset and holding her hip as she rode on. As always, I saw her pretty little arse-hole tighten and pulse as the waves of pleasure coursed through her cunny.

  I pressed my cheek on her bare buttocks, rubbing my face on her behind as she rocked upon the soft cushion, drenching it with her juice. Lucky cushion, lucky chair. Lucky me, to be witness once again to her moment of satisfaction, and be able to enjoy the animal quality of her moans. I soothed her through it, stroking her hair and her back, allowing the feeling to echo and die away little by little.