Lust

By Victoria Knightly

It is 1858 and Dewy Kittow, the gamekeeper at Long Livery Hall, is torn between two women. His heart goes out to Lizzie Hudson, a young virgin working at a seaman's mission in Plymouth. But it is Sir John Windlesham's fractious daughter, Virginia, who demands more and more sexual enjoyment with him. He is anxious to put a stop to his adventures with Virginia in order to get Lizzie into his bed, but Virginia will not play ball.

Lizzie, meanwhile, is caught in the dilemma of wondering whether she would prefer to be bedded by Dewy... or a woman.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Torrid Books
• Release date: May 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781611601855

Book preview

Chapter 1

March 1858

Dewy Kittow grew up with the practical realities of sex. In his early years, he learned the basics from watching the animals on his father’s farm. As a young man, he learned human skills from willing girls in the nearby village. He thought he’d learned everything, but he was wrong. Nothing could have prepared him for the first time he had sex with Virginia Windlesham.

A crow moon bathed the Long Livery Estate with a wash of eerily pale illumination. The evening air was still and cold, the woodland silent except for the occasional owl’s hoot and the rustling of nocturnal animals through the undergrowth. During the previous week, the cawing of crows had signalled the end of winter, but mellow nights were still many weeks away. Throughout Cornwall, country folk waited patiently for spring to meld into summer.

Inside the Long Livery gamekeeper’s cottage, the small sitting room was pleasantly warm and scented with the earthy odour of lovemaking. A wood fire crackled merrily in the grate. Flickering flames cast wandering shadows around the rough cob walls. It also bathed in its orange glow two young, naked bodies stretched out before the fire on a sheepskin.

Keeper Dewy Kittow felt trickles of sweat run across his skin. He felt distinctly uneasy, as if he was out of his class. This wasn’t the way he liked to engage in sexual union. In his previous experience, sex had always been undefiled by worry. He was good at it; he knew it because the rural girls told him so. He gave them great pleasure while his cock was moving rhythmically inside their vaginas, rasping against their clitorises. They approved of the way he always took them to a peak of excitement and then finished by ejaculating into their throats to avoid making them pregnant. Yes, he’d been good at it, but he’d also known only country girls, rural young women who had no pretensions towards class. Like him, they thought they knew all there was to know about sex and, like him, they fucked with animal passion. They were raw and earthy in their approach to sex, and so was he when he stripped off his clothes and mounted them.

But this was different.

He breathed heavily and more beads of sweat dribbled across his skin. His muscular torso was enclosed within Virginia Windlesham’s legs: shapely legs she held neatly enfolded about his waist. The head of his rigid cock was pressed against her moist vaginal lips, seeking entry. He hesitated. Would she be ready for him if he pressed forward now? His sweat intensified, his breathing grated faster. He leaned forward, his chest pressing against her perfectly formed breasts and he moulded his lips to hers. When she moaned with pleasure, he pushed her lips apart with the tip of his tongue and savoured the sweetness of her mouth. Hoping she found that initial taste of his exploring tongue pleasing, he drew back and waited for her reaction. Would she like the way he was building up her sexual emotions?

Slightly built, with dark green eyes, she responded by kissing him firmly on the lips before taking hold of one of his fingers. It was wet and sticky with the sex juices he had drawn from inside her, but Virginia smiled as she slid it between her lips and licked it. Country girls did that, but he hadn’t expected it from a young lady of breeding. Maybe she preferred the earthiness of the rustic classes. Taking it as a positive signal, Dewy pushed his cock-head halfway into her vagina. Again, he stopped to judge her reaction.

Is that all right, Miss Windlesham? He studied her face, hoping it would express total acquiescence, hoping she was fully lubricated and ready for him to go further.

She laughed—a low, mirthless laugh—and ripples ran lightly through her silky hair which was spread out on the sheepskin, a jet-black frame about her face. It’s a start, I suppose. She reached down between their naked bodies and used a finger and thumb to test the continuing firmness of his erection, the part of him still waiting to penetrate her.

A shiver of enhanced excitement ran right through Dewy. Had she been a lusty village girl he would have had no qualms about taking the lead in their sex games, no hesitation in thrusting his erection fully into her at a moment of his choosing. But Virginia was no common village girl. She was the only daughter of Brigadier-General Sir John Windlesham, the owner of Long Livery Hall and Dewy’s employer. Their lovemaking was a dangerous game.

Virginia was, Dewy realised, the crème-de-la-crème of male sexual desire, a centrepiece in the most erotic dreams of any highborn man. She was so far above his status in life that he felt obliged to concede the lead to her in their sexual encounter, even though he was physically straddling her. He was, however, fully aroused and desperate to press his cock all the way home. What would she expect of him when the crucial moment arrived? A sudden thrust followed by a rhythmic pumping action? Or something more genteel, something befitting her highborn status in Cornish society? His confusion intensified. How was a mere gamekeeper expected to behave in the arms of a woman who held such an important place amongst the county’s gentry? He cursed himself for his ignorance.

What are you waiting for?

Virginia’s cold smile disarmed him further. She was such a rare beauty, so young and so vibrant. So why had she come to his cottage in her search for sex? She could surely have taken many a noble lover to her own comfortable bed up at Long Livery Hall. There were rumours that she frequently did just that. So why him? Why poor Dewy Kittow?

Perhaps she needed to feel a sense of superiority and dominance over her paramour, a dominance more easily achieved with a servant than with nobility. Or did she simply prefer the attentions of a rough, country lad?

Wasn’t sure if you were fully ready for me, Miss Windlesham. He thought he detected a hitch in his voice.

Ginny. Call me Ginny when we’re making love. Her smile turned into a fierce look of determination. And for heaven’s sake get on with it.

Yes, Miss Ginny. He pushed his erection a little farther into her, slowly and carefully, afraid of hurting her. Is that all right?

Of course it is. Don’t be so soft, damn you. I’m not a piece of porcelain, you know. You don’t have to handle me as if I’m fragile.

Yes, Miss Ginny. He gently pressed further with his cock until he was fully inside her. After a brief pause, he pulled back a couple of inches before easing it forward again.

Harder! she snapped.

Yes, Miss Ginny. He moved his cock back and forth, accelerating until he was closer to the speed and technique he would use with a girl of his own class. His passion intensified, but anxiety was still a hindrance to his full enjoyment. A week ago, when he was living at his father’s farm, he had been at ease with the simple rural folk who were his neighbours. A week ago he knew how to behave with the girls he took to his bed. Today he was lost.

Virginia moaned softly. That’s better. You do know how to do this, don’t you?

Yes, Miss Ginny. He had settled at a satisfying speed and tried to keep to a steady rhythm. It wasn’t easy because he was certain she was mentally assessing his sexual prowess. That was off-putting.

You don’t seem to be enjoying this. Her voice sounded so well-controlled. I suppose you’re just not sure how to fuck a proper lady. That’s it, isn’t it? You’re too used to doing it with common sluts.

If you say so, Miss Ginny. His voice was hoarse, almost breathless. How the devil could Sir John’s daughter find the effort to chat in such a manner when they were in the middle of illicit sex? Was his technique so bad this time? After all that previous success, was he now a failure?

The trouble is, you’re out of your depth, aren’t you, Dewy? You’re lying naked on top of me, desperately trying to fuck me properly, but you’re not sure what to do next. That’s because I’m socially so far above you.

She sounded almost totally composed, as if the sex were nothing at all to her. Nevertheless, she bucked her hips perfectly in time with his thrusting.

He drew a deeper breath, astonished at her using the ‘fuck’ word yet again. It came unexpected and unseemly from her sensual lips. Suppose your father found out, Miss Ginny?

He won’t.

Dewy hoped she was right.

He drew a longer breath and thrust into her faster still, rasping his shaft hard against her clitoris with each frantic stroke.

That’s better! she cried out. Now you’re getting into your stride.

Her bucking hips went into overdrive and he struggled to keep up with her.

A climax came upon her suddenly. She arched her spine, raised her hips up off the sheepskin, threw back her head and opened her mouth wide, as if she was releasing a silent scream of pleasure.

But Dewy had yet to reach satisfaction. When Virginia’s orgasm waned and she slumped back onto the sheepskin, he withdrew his cock and saw that it was wilting without having ejaculated. It was the first time he had been with a girl and not come to a climax. The first time he felt a complete failure.

* * * *

Lizzie Hudson walked away from Exeter railway station feeling dangerously unprotected. The evening was damp and drizzly. Her bonnet and coat were soaked. Worse still, men were looking at her. She sensed it, just as she sensed that one of them was following her.

She’d broken her journey from London to Plymouth because the train had developed a fault and ran very late and she was insufferably tired. She had insufficient funds for a comfortable, well-padded seat in an express train. She grimaced at a nagging headache that resulted from her long, slow journey in an uncomfortable third-class carriage. After hours spent sitting on a jolting wooden seat, her backside was sore and her stomach felt nauseous. Now it was dark and cold and she wanted to rest in a warm bed for the night before travelling on to Plymouth the next morning.

She ducked into the doorway of a butcher’s shop to look behind her. Sure enough, a man in old working clothes was stalking her. He stopped and pretended to look in another shop window, but the move didn’t fool her.

Sure, he’s been following ye since ye left the station.

Oh! Lizzie spun round to see another young woman standing only a few yards away from her. I didn’t notice you.

Ye were too busy keeping an eye out for that dirty old man, so ye were.

The girl looked about Lizzie’s age: eighteen, almost nineteen. She was plainly dressed, even plainer than Lizzie, but she had a pretty face and a soft, lilting Irish voice. She wore a long brown coat that had clearly seen better days and it was getting wetter by the minute as the drizzle turned to rain. Her head was bare and her red hair fell about her face in damp straggles. She moved up closer to Lizzie.

The likes of him hang around the station looking for girls like us. They think we’re tarts, fair game to be robbed. If the bastard could get one of us alone in a dark alley he’d steal everything. Money, clothes...the lot. God, but I hate men. They’re so insufferable.

Not all men? Lizzie replied.

Yes, all men. Every bloody one of them. Give me a woman any day. The girl grabbed at Lizzie’s arm. Come along. Can I walk a little way with ye? For safety.

Of course. You know Exeter? Lizzie fell into step beside the girl. Already she felt safer.

Well enough. Where are ye going?

I need to find a hotel for the night. Somewhere not too expensive. In fact, the cheaper the better. She held back from saying so. Her lack of money was an embarrassment as well as an inconvenience.

Well, ye’re in luck. The girl smiled. I work as a maid at the Commercial Hotel, just a street away from here. It’s the cheapest ye’ll find in this part of Exeter. The name’s Colleen, by the way. Colleen O’Callaghan.

Lizzie Hudson.

Glad to meet ye, Lizzie.

The Irish girl nodded, seemingly scrutinising her as she spoke.

Are ye looking for work here?

Lizzie thought for a moment. No. I’ve secured a post in Plymouth. I’ll get an early train in the morning. I’m not expected until tomorrow so it doesn’t matter if I stay a night here. She called it a ‘post’ because it sounded so much better than a menial job in a seaman’s mission.

Well, this is the hotel.

Colleen led her to the front of a shabby three-storey building in a street of equally shabby buildings. Chunks of dirty plaster had broken away from the wall and two of the ground-floor windows were cracked. A faded sign carried the legend: The Commercial Hotel and Bar. Colleen gestured to the door. Come on in out of the rain and we’ll see if they’ve got a room for ye.

Lizzie followed the Irish girl inside, turning up her nose at a heavy smell of sweat, tobacco smoke and ale. The interior décor was as run-down as the exterior, but she took that as a good indication the rooms would be within her means. So it was grubby? So what? She would stay for only one night.

A tall, bearded man lumbered out from a room near the front door. He glanced first at Colleen. Where have you been?

The girl instantly adopted a servile manner. To the post box, sir. The one at the railway station. I needed to send a letter to me mother in Galway.

Sending money home?

Yes, sir.

More fool you. The man sniffed loudly. I don’t pay you to post letters in my time. Get into the kitchen. The guests will be wanting their food.

Yes, sir. Colleen gave Lizzie a knowing nod before she scampered away.

The man watched her go and then turned his attention on Lizzie. You looking for work here?

Lizzie drew back her shoulders. No. I want a room for the night.

Just one night? Thinking of taking in a customer or two, are you?

Customer?

The man leered at her, raking his gaze up and down as if he was mentally undressing her. Don’t pretend with me, girl. I know a woman of the streets when I see one. That’s what you are, aren’t you?

No! How dare you say that! The thought horrified her. Maybe she had come to the wrong hotel after all.

The man didn’t look entirely convinced. Please yourself. There’s plenty of trade round here for wenches like you. Anyway, we’re full.

You’ve nothing at all? It’s so cold and damp outside. Lizzie felt deflated. The last thing she wanted now was to walk the streets looking for another hotel. She tried to adopt a pleading expression.

The man shrugged as if he didn’t care. He seemed about to turn away and then he scratched thoughtfully at his bearded chin. You can share the maid’s room if you’ve a mind to. It’s not a big room, but I’ll only charge you a shilling.

A whole shilling? Lizzie shook her head firmly. You think I’d pay a whole shilling to share a room? No. I’ll pay you nine pence and that’s all. And I’ll expect supper and breakfast as well for that price.

Money in advance. The man shrugged again and held out one huge hand.

Lizzie curled her lip. He had given in too easily, perhaps even nine pence was too much. She took out her purse and carefully counted out the copper pennies. I hope the bed is clean.

If it’s not, you can kick the maid. It’s her job to keep it clean.

The drizzly evening turned into a cold, damp night. Lizzie ate a meagre cold meal in the hotel’s shabby dining room before climbing up to the attic floor where Colleen slept. A single candle lit the maid’s tiny room which was dull and lifeless, a reflection of the life she endured here. Lizzie shivered with an incipient sense of despair. Was this the sort of life she would find when she got to Plymouth?

She hurriedly undressed and released her long, golden hair so that it fell about her shoulders. With the cold air biting into her skin, she put on her nightgown and clambered into the maid’s narrow bed. At first it felt hard and inhospitable.

Maybe it’ll warm up when there’s two of us between the blankets.

She’d never shared a bed. A room, yes. But not a bed. She hoped Colleen didn’t snore or thrash about in the night.

Lizzie was still awake when Colleen came into the room an hour later and slammed the door shut. She sounded tired. Jaysus, what a night. Them bar customers just didn’t seem to want to go home. Are ye comfortable in that bed, Lizzie?

Comfortable enough. Lizzie didn’t point out that it wasn’t really wide enough for two and the mattress dipped in the middle. Colleen would be already aware of that.

The young maid stood facing the bed and stripped off her clothes, throwing them down onto the floor where Lizzie’s clothes were piled. She seemed to have no shame or embarrassment about it. Lizzie watched intently, fascinated by the way the candlelight illuminated Colleen’s nakedness. It was the first time she had seen another girl undress completely and she found it surprisingly exciting. She couldn’t shift her gaze from the Irish girl who, despite her slender figure, had well-rounded breasts, prominent nipples and a thick mass of red pubic hair. Something about the vision made Lizzie’s heart beat faster. She drew up her knees and clamped her hands together between her thighs. A tremulous feeling ran down her spine making her squirm like a kitten with a ball of wool between its paws.

Bunch up and make room for me.

Naked, Colleen bundled herself into the bed which creaked beneath the weight of the two occupants. She nestled up close to Lizzie, reaching an arm across her chest.

What about the candle? Lizzie queried.

It’ll soon burn itself out.

If you say so. Lizzie straightened her legs and pulled one of the maid’s arms about her shoulders, struggling to find space for both of them. Your skin is so cold. She nestled into Colleen’s arm and felt a shiver run through her; a shiver of excitement at the feel of the naked girl’s touch. It was something so new, so different to any other form of excitement, almost as if it was advertising its own wickedness. She chewed at her lip and wondered whether it was right or wrong to feel like this.

It’s not as if I’m lying with a man. That would be wicked.

So what could be wrong with sharing another girl’s bed? And if it wasn’t wrong, why did she feel a strange sense of illicit pleasure?

’Tis so cold tonight, but we’ll keep warm if we cuddle up together.

Colleen cupped a hand over one of Lizzie’s breasts and gently massaged it through the nightgown. Instantly, ripples of heightened delight grew out from her crotch and radiated through her body.

You’d be warmer still if you wore something in bed, Lizzie pointed out, aware that her voice was raised a full octave. She trembled and wondered if the other girl could feel it. Something physically strange was happening to her. Her nipples were hardening and pushing up against the nightgown material and she was becoming noticeably damp between her thighs. She had only a light, filmy layer of blonde pubic hair, nothing like as thick as Colleen’s forest, but it was wet.

Don’t like to wear anything when I sleep with someone, Colleen responded, her voice dropping to a hushed whisper. It spoils the fun of it.

The fun of it? Lizzie tried to hold in check the warm strange glow she now felt inside. She suspected she ought to tell the maid to move away, to release the hold on her breast, but she couldn’t. It was growing more exciting by the minute.

The fun of having someone cuddle up beside ye.

Colleen squeezed the breast enclosed within her grasp.

Don’t ye think so?

I don’t know. Lizzie breathed heavily. She ought to stop this now, before it went any further, but Colleen seemed to be treating it as perfectly normal. Maybe it was normal, maybe Lizzie Hudson was the one who was out of kilter. If she was...well, perhaps she could allow it to continue a little longer. It was, after all, a way of keeping warm.

Colleen leaned closer still and hovered her face over Lizzie’s, holding her lips partly open. It was obvious what the maid intended, but Lizzie couldn’t bring herself to prevent it. The kiss, when it came, was planted firmly on her lips. It was a long, gentle kiss that sent another tingle through her body. She’d never before experienced anything like it, never known such