The Voluptuous Correspondence of Lady X, Installment Twenty-Three

My dearest X,

I read your latest, with its lustful story, with great delight.  Trust you to find erotic amusement wherever it hides, even in the kitchen garden of the local vicarage in a town so obscure no one in London would have heard of it.  I pictured your pudgy vicar and his sturdy lady of the parish engaging in naughty role play and laughed along with you.  Your letters always bring me joy even though they remind me that we’re apart.

Shall I purchase some short pants so you may take a ruler to my arse?  We’ll see if that gets Long Tom’s attention.  If not, we’ll find some other way to raise him to his full glory.  In truth, I need no more than your nearness to become erect and ready to fill your chamber with my cock.

There, now.  Merely writing of the possibility has had the usual effect on me, and Priapus stands proud and eager in my pants.  We must find some way to be together again, my darling.  My last thoughts before I drift off to sleep are of you, and I wake every morning pretending I’ll find your face on the pillow next to mine.  I suffer bitter disappointment when I open my eyes to discover you aren’t there.

Now then, I hope I’ve discovered sufficient enticement to win you away from X for several days if not a fortnight.  When I’ve told you of my plan, I’m sure you’ll see that you must not miss this opportunity but will find some desperate way to convince X you have concerns you must attend to elsewhere.  Perhaps we can concoct a story of a lady friend who’s become ill and requires you by her side for some time.  Say you have an acquaintance X knows little enough that he wouldn’t check with her about your whereabouts while you’re away.

Have I piqued your interest, my darling?  Are you clutching my letter in your fists wondering what delights I’m offering?  Be a good girl, and don’t skip ahead but follow my story as it unfolded if you wish to understand the full implications of my proposal.

While traversing the street that leads to the park yesterday, I was hailed to a lady’s carriage standing nearby.  The person in question was someone we’d met at Sir Walter’s party.  You’ll remember Miss Creighton, the mistress of the swinging trapeze.  She’d recognized me walking along and decided to stop to discover if I’d enjoy a bit of voluptuous play while we took a drive through the park.  I could hardly pretend shyness after having fucked her so thoroughly at the salon, but then, you’d been with me to approve (and frankly to enjoy watching) any sexual acts I might engage in with the rest of the women.

I did climb into the carriage to explain the difficulty of the situation…that I had a lover who owns my heart…but before I could raise any objection, she cut me off with a cryptic statement that she had a secret which, if revealed, would easily convince my lover to share me as a reward for her information.

You must remember, my dear, that I’ve suffered your absence so keenly that desperation would make me take any risk to win the chance to see you and love your sweet cunny once again.  Miss Creighton agreed that fucking as violent as we’d performed at Sir Walter’s would not only alarm her driver but would shake the carriage to such an extent as to draw the attention of people passing by.  She suggested, instead, the we reach into each other’s clothing and make each other spend while the scenery rolled by.  I agreed.

Given the contrivances of women’s small clothes, I could hardly have gotten my hand into Miss Creighton’s drawers, but that turned out to be unnecessary as I only needed to press my fingers against her pussy to discover the wetness of the fabric and the firmness of her nubbin.  If I’d had any doubt concerning the latter, her muffled cry of surprise and pleasure confirmed that I had, indeed, found the right spot.

“Now, then,” I said.  “You must tell me the secret you used to persuade me to pleasure you.”

“I will, dear Richard, only let me enjoy your touch for a moment,” she said.  “You do that so well.”

Her eyes closed in rapture, and I continued my stimulation of her clitoris.  After a bit, she seemed to realize she’s promised to touch me, as well, and she reached to the fastenings of my pants and undid them one by one.  By now, my cock had reared his head, and when she finally freed him, he sprang into her palm.

You know I have a passionate nature, my darling, and I’ve kept myself aloof from other women since the day we last parted.  As much as I would have preferred your hand on my cock, I could hardly resist the opportunity to give it some relief from the constant ache your absence causes.  In short, I nearly spent the moment she stroked me and caressed the head with her thumb.

“Why, what a livid color you are,” she exclaimed.  “I do believe you’ll climax soon.  I would so love to watch.”

“Not without your secret first,” I said, although I doubt I could have controlled my response had she insisted on bringing me to orgasm.

“Do indulge me a bit longer,” she replied.  “My secret will be worth your having to wait, I promise.”

And so, I did my utmost to arouse her passions, observing which sorts of touches most excited her.  Her clitoris became quite distended, and I discovered a prominent head.  That I tugged at gently until she fell back against the seat of the carriage and her breathing turned to gasps.  I could hardly fail to recognize her state…right at the boundary separating high arousal from the rapid climb to orgasm.  In that condition, she couldn’t have answered questions even if she’d wished to, so I decided to finish her and rely on her earlier promise to reveal her secret to me.

Within moments, a flush covered her neck and face, and her hips rose as her climax claimed her.  To her credit, she managed not to shout loudly enough to bring her driver around to see if she needed rescue.  Her pussy completely soaked her drawers and, had I had a finger inside her chamber, I no doubt would have enjoyed its rhythmic convulsions.  To all appearances, I’d given her a satisfactory experience, indeed.

Of course, that left my cock without release, and nothing had occurred to lessen its throbbing or crimson color.  When Miss Creighton’s eyes fluttered open, she immediately glanced at where her hand rested on my thigh.

“The poor man,” she said.  “Still so rigid and unsatisfied.”

“I’ve done as you wish,” I said.  “May I not know your secret now?”

“I think not.  I haven’t performed my part of our bargain.”  At that, she grasped me again and proceeded to stroke my whole length, from the base to the head.  I finally admitted to myself that she’d won her point and I’d have to let her watch me spend.  Priapus fairly twitched with delight at my decision, and I rested back against the seat cushions and let her have her way with me.

I did allow myself the luxury of pretending you were caressing me in preparation for a vigorous coupling.  As the carriage rolled beneath me, I imagined you raising your skirts - you wouldn’t be wearing drawers, my darling - climbing over me and guiding your cunny down onto my pego.  For the longest time, we wouldn’t have to move against each other but would let the natural motion of the conveyance give us a gentle fucking.

That fantasy didn’t last for long, however, as my lust had built to such a level that I’d have to come within minutes, if not seconds.  I imagined you riding me while I bucked beneath you.  While Miss Creighton continued stroking me, I pictured the walls of your pussy tightening around me, so deliciously hot and wet, in preparation for your completion.

By that point, I could endure no more, and the climax roared through me.  I released semen into her hand in streams.  Through the haze of fulfilled lust, I scarcely heard her squeals of delight, and when I finally finished, I slumped against the cushions, working to get breath back into my lungs.

Now, my dearest, because you’ve patiently followed my story thus far, I’ll share Miss Creighton’s secret with you, and you’ll see that our reunion is imperative.  She revealed that she’d just learned Sir Walter keeps a very private club in the country.  Several years ago, he purchased a large estate and had it furnished to accommodate several couples for extended licentious enjoyment.  The house is now finished, equipped with everything voluptuaries would need to allow for the fullest enjoyment of each other’s bodies.  She also felt sure she could arrange for us to attend for a long house party, which as you know, could last for weeks rather than days.

What say you, heart of my heart?  Can you get away from X for some time so you may join me at Sir Walter’s new den of iniquity?  Tell me you can.  I’ll hardly sleep waiting for your answer.

With that, I remain,

Your eager Richard.

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Weekend lagniappe: eXcerpt from The Sixth Lover by Alice Gaines

Shortly after the beginning of the second act, Carole had her first visitor—a woman, long-limbed, very elegant and most likely in her fifties. She forged her way right in and took the chair next to Carole’s.

She smoothed an errant curl with a bit of gray in it back from her temple. “Well, young lady, you’ve caused quite a stir. No doubt that was your intent.”

“I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Ah, American,” the woman said. “No wonder no one recognized you.”

“Mrs. Carole Rose from New York.”

Instead of doing the obviously courteous thing—returning the introduction—her visitor pretended to look around. “Mr. Rose doesn’t seem to be in attendance.”

“He died several months ago.”

“My condolences. My mouth gets away from me sometimes. I’m Bertina Hammond, Lady Blakely, but my friends call me Bert.”

“I’m glad to make your acquaintance, Lady Blakely.”

“Well done, Mrs. Rose.” The lady’s smile broadened.

“Because I addressed you formally?”

“Because you didn’t assume I’m your friend.”

The music swelled as the tenor finished his aria. Applause rolled through the theater, as people jumped to their feet. Maybe some of them had listened to the singing. Carole also rose, as did her visitor. They clapped politely for a while and then sat back down.

“So, have you satisfied your curiosity, Lady Blakely?” Carole asked.

“Not entirely.”

“I’m not very interesting.”

The lady laughed. You couldn’t call it actual mirth, but it had a musical quality to it. “A woman alone in one of the best boxes? You had to know you’d attract attention.”

“I hadn’t counted on you to visit.”

“I daresay not, but ah, yes…here he is.”

Lady Blakely turned toward the back of the box, and Carole followed her gaze. Mr. Harthorn entered, went straight to her visitor, and placed a light kiss on her cheek.

“Hello, Bert,” he said.

“Hello, darling,” Lady Blakely answered. “I might have known you’d show up.”

“I can never stay away from you for long,” he answered.

“Liar.” Lady Blakely patted his cheek and rose. “Behave yourself with Mrs. Rose here. She’s American and doesn’t understand our ways.”

“No one understands your ways, Bert,” the man said.

“You’re such a bastard.” The lady rested her hand on Carole’s shoulder. “Watch out for this one.”

“Thank you for stopping by,” Carole said.

Lady Blakely left the box with an angry rustle of silk.

Mr. Harthorn sat in the now vacant chair next to Carole. “You mustn’t pay any attention to Bert. Her claws are sharp but don’t go very deep.”

“Do all people in England wander in without an introduction?” Carole asked.

“We’ve met.”

She studied him. His brown eyes sparkled with mischief, and his sable hair curled around his collar in a style too long for proper fashion. With his long legs and broad shoulders, he cut quite a figure. He was an indecently attractive man and obviously knew it.

“This afternoon, although we weren’t introduced,” he said. “I’m Roger Harthorn, as I’m sure your companion told you. She was quite scandalized.”

“You know Mrs. Carter?”

“I’ve observed her type often enough.” He gave her an insolent smile that dazzled, even in the near-darkness of the theater. “The posture gives them away as well as they way they pretend not to be staring. Dudgeon of the highest order.”

She couldn’t help but smile, too. He’d described the solicitor’s wife to a T.

“Do you enjoy the opera, Mr. Harthorn?” she asked.

“I tolerate it well enough,” he answered. “You?”

“I like it very much.”

“Don’t tell me I’ve finally met someone who comes here for the music,” he said.

“I’ll admit that wasn’t my only reason.” Her cheeks grew warm. They’d be quite pink now, but with any luck, he wouldn’t notice in the dim light. She’d never learned how to flirt, and at her age, she’d probably never catch up.

“You hoped to be seen, or you wouldn’t have taken a whole box for yourself,” Harthorn said. “I hope the person’s worth all the trouble and expense.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“A man. Of course. Give me his name, and I’ll arrange an introduction.”

Damn. What did she say to that? She didn’t have a name and didn’t want to meet anyone else, anyway. but she’d never find the nerve to tell Harthorn she’d come looking for him.

“A secret, eh? Don’t worry. I’m sure he’s seen you.” Harthorn rested his arm on the back of her chair and leaned close enough to put his lips near her ear. “He noticed you this afternoon well enough.”

Ah, yes. The brush of his fingers on her table as he’d gone by. “I don’t see how you could know that.”

“Mrs. Rose, let’s not toy with each other.” His voice came low and sweet, his breath tickling her ear. “We forged a connection this afternoon.”

“You’re exaggerating a bit, aren’t you?”

“Not at all. I haven’t reacted this powerfully to a woman since I was a lad.” He took her hand and set it in his lap, pressing her palm against the front of his pants.

Oh, dear Lord. She tried to pull her fingers away, but he held them there. “I got this way from simply watching you sip tea.”

Her heart hammered, and she had to remind herself to breathe. After all these months, she had her hand on a man’s member. Through his pants, yes, but the outline was unmistakable—long and thick and so very hard. Exactly what she craved. Deep inside, her own sex got the connection he’d spoken of. Despite the impossible situation, her pussy felt empty, begging for what it hadn’t had for so long.

No—had never had. Oscar was never like this.

“So, will you slap my face now?” Harthorn asked.

She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “No.”

“By God, you’re direct. An Englishwoman would have dodged and dallied.”

“I’m too old to dally,” she said.

“And thank the Almighty for that.” He bent toward her again, this time placing a soft kiss on the naked skin of her shoulder. “May I know your first name?”

“It’s Carole.”

“Carole,” he repeated, before gently nibbling his way toward her neck. Her breathing grew labored as he left pinpricks of fire everywhere he touched her.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered against her throat.

“You’d better stop. Someone might see.”

He straightened and turned her head toward his. “You’re an innocent.”

“I was married for ten years.”

“But you’re still innocent, aren’t you?”

“I knew my husband on our wedding night.” She tried again to free her hand from where it rested against his crotch. He still didn’t release it.

“But you were a virgin then,” he said.

“That’s the way it’s usually done.”

“How sweet.” That delicious smile curled his mouth. “And you haven’t had a man since he died.”

Since some months before, but she couldn’t betray her husband by confessing it. Instead, she bit her lip and did her best to calm her trembling.

“That only makes me hotter, Carole. My cock’s throbbing now,” he said.

“Shall I stroke it?” Good Lord in heaven, where had that come from? “Through the fabric, I mean.”

A light of pure mischief entered his eyes. “You’d like to do that?”

“I find it fascinating.” She squeezed him, pressing the head with the tips of her fingers. “Could I make you spend that way?”

He sucked in a breath. “I daresay you could.”

“Would anyone notice, do you think?”

“They can’t see into my lap.”

“Will they see this?” She reached lower, between his legs where his sac would be and stroked it softly. That took the mischief from his eyes, but his lips still stayed in that lazy smile. He turned back toward the stage, pretending to follow the opera, but they both knew none of the music penetrated his brain.

What fun. She’d never, in her life, expected to do anything like this, but Thomas had opened her mind to all kinds of delicious possibilities. Thomas. Darling Thomas. Why had she never asked him if he liked opera? She’d have to do that in her next letter. Then, she’d have to ask if he’d like to sit in a public place with her hand on his cock. For now, she’d pretend he was here with her now as she used gentle pressure against the length of his shaft. Up, down, and up again to linger at the tip.

“You do that very well,” Harthorn said. “I wouldn’t think you inexperienced.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

He let out a soft moan. “This won’t take long at all.”

“You mustn’t give anything away with your expression,” she said. “Your friend, Bert, may be watching us.”

“She won’t tell. She likes her husband’s money too much.”

“And you know secrets he wouldn’t want to hear,” she said.

“I say…” His eyes drifted halfway shut. “Could we discuss it later?”

“Of course.” She moved her fingers faster, gripping him as tightly as she could manage through the wool of his pants. He sat rigidly, and his eyes went out of focus with pleasure.

“Talk to me,” he whispered. “Something filthy.”

“Would you like to fuck me, Roger?” There. She’d said it. The worst word she knew.

“God, yes.”

“I’d like that, too. My cunny’s getting damp for you.” That was no lie. Who would have thought that she, a virtuous widow with hardly a dirty thought until a few months ago, would find herself with a perfect stranger like this? Sitting in public, stimulating his sex and telling him she wanted him. “But you won’t have me, will you? No, you’re going to spend in your pants like a schoolboy.”

“Oh…ah…don’t stop.”

“No one can know what I’m doing to you, or I will stop,” she said. “Promise me you won’t make a noise when you come.”

He gritted his jaw. “Bloody hell.”

“Do it, or I’ll leave you hanging.” She paused in her work on his tool. She wouldn’t leave him this way. If nothing else, she wanted to see what he’d do when the climax hit him.

“I promise,” he said in a strangled whisper. “Have mercy. Finish me.”

She squeezed the tip of him and then stroked his length—hard and fast, all the way to the base. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as his body stiffened. His hips jerked as he climaxed, but he made no sound above a soft grunt. Such a sight he made—the male animal consumed by lust. She’d never watched a man’s face at the ultimate moment before. She’d see Thomas in this state eventually, and he’d witness her ecstasy, too. Right now, Roger Harthorn slumped against his chair, breathing heavily. She finally reclaimed her hand setting it in her own lap.

“That was extraordinary,” he said softly.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“Like? My dear Carole. The word is inadequate.”

Pride glowed inside her. The idea of taking other lovers had seemed silly and even morally bankrupt when she only wanted one man—Thomas. but she could learn so much before she joined him. How much better to go to him fully prepared to fulfill his wildest fantasies than to have to grope blindly for just the right caresses to make him wild with wanting her.

Yes, Thomas had had it right. She’d experiment with other men and give the benefit of her lessons to her ultimate lover.

“You’re grown pensive,” Roger said. “That didn’t repulse you, did it?”

“Not at all.”

“You seemed willing. Even eager.” His face showed uncertainty, even worry. For heaven’s sake, the scandalous fellow who’d bedded any woman he wanted, actually cared about her opinion of him.

“It was a revelation,” she said. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“Nor have I. I usually entertain the lady.” The wicked heat returned to his eyes. “Would you like me to do the same for you?”

She nearly gasped with surprise. “Your hand under my skirts at the opera?”

“Not right now. It’ll be intermission soon.”

“You’ll have to rejoin your friends,” she said.

“Eyebrows will rise if I don’t.”

“Eyebrows have probably already risen.”

“No doubt about that.” He chuckled. “Still, I want enough time to do the job properly.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Will you be here tomorrow night?”

She smiled and nodded.

“I’ll see you then.” He leaned toward her again. “In the meantime, don’t touch your pearl. I want it hungry for my touch.”

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Weekend Lagniappe - EXcerpt "Sex after Death" by Alice Gaines

Sex After Death

Alice Gaines
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2013 Alice Gaines


This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.


In Katy's dream, the man had grown to full size and turned to flesh, but he still held the chill of stone as his body moved over hers. She lay in her bed, somehow able to glance around her room through closed lids. She couldn't see him, but she could feel him, his hands roaming her breasts, his fingers rough around her nipples.

She tried to touch his back to prove he was really there, but her arm wouldn't move. Nothing would move, even when she concentrated on no more than getting her big toe to ease upward.

Her invisible lover had paralyzed her, and though none of this was real, she knew with a dreamer's certainty the creature making such thorough love to her was the planter/statue she'd bought a few hours before, Sir Hung-like-a-horse.

Would she finally get to see his cock fully engorged? More important, would she get to feel it between her legs, seeking the entrance to her pussy and then easing its way in?

As soon as the thought had lodged in her head, it traveled all the way down to her sex and stuck there. Moisture pooled between her thighs. Her body prepared itself for sex well enough even if it wouldn't let her move to get any.

Achy and throbbing, her clit demanded attention. She needed to come. Needed it strongly enough to reduce her to begging. If she could touch herself, she'd climax quickly. Even better if she could get him to touch her with the fingers currently massaging her breasts.

The best of all would be if she could have his cock inside her. No more than a few thrusts, and she'd explode all around him.

Please, her mind shouted, but no more than a whimper came out of her mouth. In response, he continued his torment of her breasts, but now he also nipped gently at her shoulder. His breath fanned over her flesh -- not cold, exactly, but not hot like a human lover's. Cool.

If she could see him... if she could speak... lift her arms to invite him into an embrace and part her legs to make room for him, maybe he'd give her what she needed. At least she could reach to his cock to discover if it had grown long and thick.

After several moments, his hand finally began a slow journey over her belly while his mouth covered one nipple. He sucked with exactly the right pressure to make her heart thunder in her chest.

Her own harsh breathing filled the room, the sound of a woman becoming hopelessly aroused. The throbbing between her legs grew into a fire. So hot. He could put it out if he'd only touch her. He could fix her by giving her the orgasm just out of her reach.

This time, her mind shrieked Please! and a cry bounced off the bedroom walls all around them.

Low, soft laughter answered. A rumbling baritone. He knew what he was doing to her, and he enjoyed it. Could this be the curse? Eternal arousal with no satisfaction could certainly feel like hell. Maybe she shouldn't have watered him, after all. And maybe all the superstition had created a perfectly normal erotic dream. She'd never had one like this before.

It felt so fucking real, as if she really were in bed with an invisible man whose cool touch was turning her molten inside. Was his cock erect? If so, had it maintained its huge size? Could she take it all inside her without any pain? God, she'd give anything to find out. Anything.

As if he'd read her mind, he moved over her and settled between her legs. The tip of his hard-on pressed against her inner thigh -- the swollen head, firm but very human and not cold at all. So hot, it burned as if it had to bathe in her juices to put the fire out.

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