The (Mis)Adventures of Ian Flannery - Glimpse 1
London, 1787
I relaxed back into the well-stuffed mattress, trying to calm my breathing. It took a bit longer than usual this time, since the lovely young duchess had been very energetic this afternoon. She'd been feeling quite frisky; so frisky, in fact, that even I, who considered myself to have a very impressive sexual stamina, actually worried for a moment or two that I might not be able to keep up.
I grabbed a few bites of cheese off a nearby tray and poured myself a well-deserved glass of wine. I lay back on the plump pillows and regarded the room around me. Heavy draperies hung on the walls, four giant posters framed the bed, with more heavy draperies ready to enclose and disguise whatever happened within. Large portraits of family members long gone hung on the wall.
I snorted as I took in their aristocratic, snooty faces. I had some of that aristocratic blood running through my veins, yet I'd had none of the privileges of their birth. No, I'd been born in shame, a poorly kept secret; a small sum given to a serving maid who'd briefly kept the heir's attention and then gone and had the horrible taste to actually get pregnant. As if it were all her fault. Not the same family, but I'm sure each aristocratic family has the same story.
I looked over at the beautiful young duchess lying next to me, sleeping peacefully, sated for the next half hour. Indeed, I'd had none of her indulgences, none of her education. What education I had, I gleaned for myself - even as a small lad I was always watching, aware of what was going on around me in the servant's quarters, seeing without needing to be told what was said and what was left unspoken.
I knew that such a life - of cleaning the master's shoes, of shoeing his horse, of cleaning his stables, of putting him to bed after a night of too much drinking - was not the life for me. So I saved what little my mam could give me, and I honed to an art the lifting of purses off the toffs in the busy, filthy streets of London. And I saved my money until I could buy a fancy frock coat, then a pair of velvet trousers, a fancy pair of slipper shoes, a lacy shirt. I knew from glancing in the broken mirror we had in my mam's room that I was an attractive bloke - a fact that the other, younger serving girls confirmed. But I had my sights set much higher.
When I wasn't off lifting purses, I was still watching, listening. I watched how the upper class blokes walked, acted, greeted each other. I listened to how they spoke. When I came across a pretty lass, I'd practice bettering my speech on her. And I'd practice my other skills as well.
Slowly, I began to speak better, walk better, look better. My chestnut hair was washed more often; my clothes kept shining clean, neat and pressed. Even though I kept insisting she didn't have to, when my mam was finished with her day's work, she'd often fix the lace, or press the coat, or shine the shoes. "It's all I can give you, Ian my son. We both know you were born for better than this. You're getting out of here, and I'll spend my last breath helping you if I must, my lovely, pretty lad," she'd smile.
So now, at the age of twenty-five, I'd slowly seduced my way up the ranks - first serving girls to learn the basics, then a working girl or two to learn some tricks of the trade, as it were, then lower level toffs' wives, all of them leading to the lovely young blonde sleeping peacefully next to me. Each of them had helped me in some way - some taught me skill, some taught me style or better speech, some simply had some money or valuables around that made their way out with me before the sun rose.
But next to me was the big prize, as they say - the young Duchess of Kent. Much younger than her husband, very randy, beautiful with a lovely, plump body, and, if her lover could keep her satisfied, she, in turn, could keep her lover a well kept man. Her husband gave her a very generous allowance, and if you were the one to keep all her horny - and sometimes risque - urges met, she was easily persuaded to keep you satisfied as well.
So far, I'd been successful. Her every need had been met, many, many times over, and we'd managed to elude her husband. Already she'd had her servant purchase for me a lovely ivory lace shirt, with pearl buttons, a flounce at the neck and long cuffs at each wrist. I quite taken with it. She loved to run her hands through my chestnut hair, although occasionally in the heat of the moment she was wont to grab great handfuls of it and yank painfully. Still, as far as jobs went, this certainly beat being a chimneysweep.
I'd finished the wine by this time, and was getting a bit drowsy. Figuring it was best to get a bit of rest while I could, I slid down farther into the pillows, threw the heavy blanket over me and drifted off...
… the most lovely feeling... something warm and wet was wrapped around my cock... it was sliding up and down, up and down, pulling me from my sleep, but still the wine held onto me, not wanting me to wake yet... then I felt soft, warm fingers stroke and tease my balls...
A voice whispered to me. "Ian..." it drew out melodically... "Ian... wake up, my lover, I need you..." Then I felt a warm, soft weight settle across my thighs and that lovely, warm wetness surround my cock again. This time the pulls were stronger, more insistent. The haze that the wine had settled around my mind, along with sleep, finally lifted, and I raised the edge of the blanket just as Elizabeth raised her head on an upstroke. She ran her tongue around the head of my cock and gave me a mischievous look. She suddenly twisted position so that I was faced with her core, already wet with want. She threw me a wink over her shoulder then leaned down to take me in her mouth again. I moaned against her and my tongue crept out to taste her. I felt her moan against my shaft and it felt incredible. Right then, whatever caused her to do that, which in turn felt so amazing to me, was the plan. I gave her a long, slow lick, shuddering against her at her answering moan, then began to fuck her with my tongue while my hips had my cock fucking her mouth. She moaned, long and almost keening, and shifted trying to both get her pussy closer to my face and take my cock farther down her throat. I reached around and pinched her clit with my fingers and it immediately set off her orgasm, and she spasmed uncontrollably against my face, each spasm causing her to suck harder and harder on my cock. I held her hips back a little from my face to watch her sucking me with abandon, and it was my undoing. I came in a long, shuddering spurt down her throat, which she swallowed as if it was the sweetest cream, and then proceeded to lick my cock clean.
I was just starting to think that perhaps I could keep this one around a bit longer, when I heard a deep male voice call out, "Elizabeth darling, all you alright? Your maid said you were ill in your chamber. Shall I send for the doctor?"
It was one of those moments that will be frozen in my mind forever: the Duke of Kent, all dressed for court, and the look on his face, seeing his lovely young wife, with my cock in her mouth and her bare sex to my face. It was also supremely pleasing to me that I did not lose my erection.
However, I did think, "Oh, bugger."
