Title: Fantasy into Reality (1)
Pairing: Sam Vimes / Lady Sybil Ramkin
Rating: M
Summary: this is a splintered story from Roruna's original fic over on LJ "Sex Education." I have included a link (altered so it doesn't get blocked) for those that want to check out the original :D Roruna has kindly given me permission to tamper with her fic, so a big shout out for that and I hope you like this alternate version!
The basic premise is that Lady Ramkin wants to move things on (ahem) with Captain Vimes, but is unsure of her ability in 'that' way, and so decides to call on the expert. Enter one Mrs Palm. The splintered fic picks up where Mrs Palm leaves Lady Ramkin after agreeing to teach her some tricks of the trade.
Direct quotes from the original Sex Education fic are in italics.
If you don't wish to read accounts of your favourite characters getting up close and personal, graphically, then stop reading now. Consider yourself warned :)
This is part 1 of 2.
Mrs Palm left her meeting with Lady Ramkin feeling very thoughtful. As she climbed into her coach, she couldn't help but think that Lady Ramkin had beaten around the bush for quite long enough and that there was no substitute for pure driving lust. She smiled wickedly, a naughty idea occurring to her. Well, Mrs Palm's stock in trade was naughtiness...but this particular type of naughtiness was naughty because Lady Ramkin would have no idea...
Mrs Palm laughed to herself as she directed her coach towards the city.
An insistent banging finally managed to permeate the alcohol induced haze that surrounded Captain Vimes as he lay curled into an uneasy sleep on his saggy mattress and stained blankets above the candlemaker's shop. He blearily lifted his head, feeling the cold rush of air from the broken window that his landlady refused to repair, saying that that "ruddy dragon" had done it. Errol most definitely had not done it, the worst he had done was to make holes in the carpet. The window was simply old, cheap, and had already been cracked when Vimes moved in. One good storm and the pane dropped out. Vimes couldn't be bothered to press the issue. He spent most of his life outdoors so what did it matter if the elements got a little cosier than usual indoors? The times when he bothered to fall in an alcoholic stupor onto his narrow, lumpy bed he was incapable of even knowing his own name, never mind feeling the wind through the broken window. Vimes drank with the express purpose of euthanising his mind. Any form of sobriety at all was not to be countenanced.
He winced as the thumping continued. Surely it was too early to be tonight yet?
"Okay, okay," he muttered, crawling to the edge of the bed and unsteadily weaving his way to the door. He fumbled for the loose handle and opened the chipped door, descending the narrow, dank staircase towards the door leading onto the street.
"Good afternoon, Captain."
Vimes stared. Mrs Palm? What on earth would the head of the Guild of Seamstresses want with him? He wasn't a, er, client or customer, of the Guild's services and never had been. Many men were, and Vimes wasn't bothered particularly about other folk's personal lives, he just never saw the attraction of a cheaply bought thrill. He particularly despised it when the men involved were married, and he had known plenty of colleagues down the years cheerfully making their unsteady way towards the Whorepits after a night on the booze. It had taken no small measure of self control for Vimes to look the other way. His own father hadn't been particularly faithful - or sober - and he had grown up watching his mother deal with betrayal after betrayal, broken under the weight of poverty and despair. Even if he had nothing himself, he had resolved that he would never be the man his father had been - marriage and parenthood hadn't happened, but the principle remained. He preferred his personal affairs to be more meaningful, which went some way to explaining why he habitually went to bed alone and was resolutely single and unwed - except for his recent understanding with Lady Ramkin, of course. The times when he was desperately in need of release, he had to take himself in hand, as it were. The irony wasn't lost on him that he was becoming the same drunk as his despised father before. It's not the same...
"Um, come in," Vimes waved behind him into the dank interior. "It's not much," he mumbled, "follow me."
Mrs Palm nodded as Vimes led the way up the stairs. She could smell the alcohol that surrounded him. You could practically cut it with a knife. She stared at the back of his head as she ascended the worn stairs. Hair a nice thickness and texture, still dark too, no grey. Quite broad in the shoulder, strong back for someone lean, arms quite muscular too. Mrs Palm pursed her lips with a small smile. Yes, Lady Ramkin could certainly do worse. She stepped into Vimes room and sat on a small wooden chair, rearranging her skirts. As she looked at Vimes sitting ill at ease on the edge of his unmade bed, she couldn't help but replay Lady Ramkin's proposition in her mind.
"I think I need a more in-depth sexual education than I received at the Quirm College for Young Ladies and I'll need some assistance putting what I learn into practice."
"So you want me to teach you some tricks of the trade and help you seduce Vimesy?"
Mrs Palm coughed slightly as she brought herself back to the present. She ignored the state of Vimes' lodgings, she had seen a lot worse back when she was younger and trying to build up the Guild. Men looking for the types of comfort offered by Mrs Palm and her girls weren't generally bothered by their surroundings. The more temporary the better, in a lot of cases. She focused again on the dishevelled looking man in front of her. He didn't look particularly interested in why she was here, there was a curiosity, yes, but his demeanour was of one who didn't particularly care about what you might have to say. With a guilty start she realised that this was technically the middle of the night for a night watchman.
"Captain Vimes," she began. "I have just left Lady Ramkin after a most...interesting...chat."
At hearing this, Vimes' posture changed. He sat up and directed a surprisingly penetrating dark stare in her direction. She had to fight the impulse to look away.
"Chat?" Vimes repeated, suspiciously. "What sort of 'chat?'"
Mrs Palm smoothed her skirts again, a nervous gesture, as she decided how much to divulge. She looked again at the unshaven, dark haired man in front of her, unconsciously displaying just how concerned he was, which told her everything she needed to know about his feelings for Lady Ramkin. Her mind's eye supplied a highly erotic image - Lady Ramkin lying helpless upon her Queen size bed, Vimes approaching her slowly, allowing the tension to build whilst Lady Ramkin moaned in anticipation and building excitement.
Mrs Palm smiled.
"You and Lady Ramkin, how long have you been together now, Captain?"
Vimes stared at her, clearly wondering where this conversation was heading. He debated whether or not to answer, but couldn't really see any reason why not, especially as Mrs Palm seemed to have something she wanted to say about Sybil.
"Er, about three months. Why?"
Mrs Palm nodded absently, still trying to work out how to steer the conversation to where she wanted it to be. At the end of the day, Mrs Palm thought to herself, Vimes was a man. He wouldn't be normal if he didn't have urges and desires like everyone else. Hell, even Lady Ramkin had confessed she fantasised about bedding Vimes.
"And, er, have you thought about, you know, moving things forward?"
"What the hell is this?" Vimes demanded. "What have you been saying to Sybil?"
Mrs Palm raised her hands in a placating gesture.
"Captain, this isn't what you think." She took one look at his scarlet face and decided to aim for complete honesty. "Lady Ramkin asked me to visit her this morning. I don't mind telling you I was somewhat surprised." At Vimes' nod she continued. "I was even more surprised at what she asked of me."
Mrs Palm looked directly at Captain Vimes. "She is embarrassed and unsure about moving things to, er, the next level. With you."
Vimes felt his mouth drop open. "But I would never ask her to do something she didn't want - " he began.
"I know," Mrs Palm interrupted. "It's not that." She fidgeted slightly. "She wants my help to, er, seduce you." At Vimes' still incomprehending look, she sighed. "Captain, Lady Ramkin is a virgin. She is afraid of sleeping with you because she feels that she doesn't know what to do."
Vimes felt his face flame scarlet. If it could have caught fire it would have. This feeling was swiftly followed by a myriad of emotions. Embarrassment, shame that he didn't have the perspicacity to think of this himself, uncertainty, a certain pleasure that Lady Ramkin took this all so seriously, but most of all a desperate desire to reassure her.
Misreading Vimes' flush for self recrimination, Mrs Palm hastily interjected.
"It's not that she thinks you expect it or anything like that, Captain, she feels insecure in herself." Mrs Palm stared down at her hands. Being a counsellor of sorts came with the territory, when men opened their trousers they often opened their mouths too, but this was new for Mrs Palm. She sighed and decided to be blunt.
"Sam Vimes. Lady Sybil wants to bed you but doesn't know what to do, ok? And I'm here because I'm going to make sure she gets her wish. I take it you do...?"
Vimes nodded quickly.
Oh yes, how many nights had he gone to bed, alone, with only his hand and a tantalising glimpse of cleavage to torment himself with, imagining following that soft curve of breast underneath Sybil's elegant dress with his fingers, or better yet, his mouth...
Vimes swallowed with a suddenly dry mouth. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. He coughed, and tried again.
"So, er, why are you telling me if Sybil has asked you...?"
Mrs Palm leaned forward and fixed her unwavering gaze on Captain Vimes.
"Because I want her to find her fantasy coming true."
Captain Vimes wiped suddenly sweaty palms on his breeches and wondered what the hell he was doing. Mrs Palm had been quite definite - at the right moment she would signal to Vimes to slip into the room and take her place.
If all went according to plan, Sybil would be so aroused that she wouldn't even question how Vimes came to be there or that he knew what was happening. Mrs Palm had given him an idea of what she would be doing when she saw Sybil that evening. As the idea was for Sybil to understand seduction and sex better, Mrs Palm had said that she was going to start with Sybil herself. Vimes, and other parts of him, had immediately paid attention. What was running through his mind, in no small measure, was how to contain himself until Mrs Palm indicated for him to enter, as well as the awful possibility that a hundred and one things could go wrong.
Namely, that Sybil decided it was too embarrassing; or that she didn't want to have such a 'practical' introduction so soon and Vimes was left lurking outside the bedroom door like some pervert; or that he came inside and took over from Mrs Palm, so to speak, and Sybil was horrified. He shuddered at the last one. When you got right down to it, all they had done thus far was to kiss. And not even particularly far advanced with that either. Was Sybil so unsure of herself in the erotic arena that she even doubted her kisses? Because Vimes could attest that they blew his mind. He really wished that she had spoken to him, he could have put her right on so many things and saved her this aggravation. She seemed to think that to sleep with the person you loved involved having certain skills, or to perform in a certain way. When all that was really required was to *be*. Just by the fact that she was Sybil, his girlfriend, and the woman he loved, was all that was needed for Vimes to be absolutely certain that when they slept together it would be the best experience of his life.
He sighed heavily, and then leaned closer to the door, Mrs Palm's muted voice drifting through the centimetre or so crack of the door that Vimes recognised as being one of the larger guest bedrooms.
Mrs Palm positioned a chair a couple of feet from the foot of the bed and sat down.
"Speaking of loving yourself, you're going to show me how you do it."
Vimes applied an eye to the crack, after guiltily looking up and down the expansive landing, feeling like a peeping Tom, and literally felt his jaw drop and his groin swell.
Lady Ramkin got on the bed. She paused a moment as she tried to decide whether to just lie back or sit up. She looked at Mrs. Palm and realized that she looked quite eager for her to get started. She smiled to herself and arranged several pillows so she could lie back but still give Mrs. Palm a good view. Mrs. Palm leaned forward and tried not to look too anxious.
Lady Ramkin closed her eyes and started massaging her breasts, slowly and gently at first then she started to squeeze them harder. Her eyes were shut tight in intense concentration...
Vimes could not have torn his heated gaze away from that glorious vision if a herd of wild horses had stampeded past. He had known that Lady Ramkin was a lot of woman, but this? This showed all of her sensual soft curves in all of their rounded erotic glory, and her magnificent breasts were causing him to whimper quietly to himself as he desperately tried to remember every detail just in case he never saw this entrancing vision again.
Mrs. Palm stood up and undressed without Lady Ramkin noticing. She sat down next to her and whispered, "Tell me what you think about when you play with yourself?"... ...After a few more minutes, Lady Ramkin answered with a hoarse gasp. "Sam. I think... about Sam."
Outside the door Vimes felt his cock twitch as if someone had sent a bolt of electricity through him. He gripped the doorframe with a white knuckled hand as he fought the urge to throw the door open and ravish Lady Ramkin as she lay spread eagled on the bed in all of her wanton glory.
Mrs. Palm nodded. She'd guessed as much. She was starting to understand the man's appeal. At least from the point of view of a refined lady like Sybil Ramkin. She leaned back and turned to her side content to watch Lady Ramkin a little longer. In a low sultry voice she said. "Yes. I bet you try to imagine his rough hands caressing your soft skin." Lady Ramkin moaned. Mrs. Palm smirked and continued. "Or his stubble scratching at the skin of your breasts while he bites and sucks on them."
Vimes had never before fully appreciated the power of erotic words. Or, more bluntly, sex talk. The Amorous Adventures of Molly Clapper with the interesting woodcuts did not count as erotic words in Vimes opinion. If nothing else, he now knew that the woodcuts were a downright lie. His past wasn't exactly littered with conquests, and he had never been a man for casual flings, but he had had enough experience to know about the mundane, unerotic, embarrassing reality of many of his sexual encounters. The arena of titillation and more unusual foreplay was a new one for him. The vision Mrs Palm's words conjured up was compelling. He moaned to himself, almost feeling Lady Ramkin's curves underneath his trembling fingers and the heavy warmth of her breasts beneath his questing tongue. He saw in his mind's eye the dew drops his tongue left glistening on the pale skin and the tiny ridges on her hardening nipple inviting his tongue to taste.
Words were no longer adequate. Vimes could only process pictures. Big, technicolour, moving pictures. His heated gaze was drawn irresistibly back to the tableau on the bed.
Lady Ramkin's hands [had] started moving faster. She arched her back. Mrs. Palm leaned closer to her until her mouth was just inches from her ear. "Do you think about breathing in his scent as he mounts you? Must be a nice blend of Ankh-Morpork, sweat and iron." Lady Ramkin shuddered. She started licking her lips and biting her bottom lip repeatedly. Mrs. Palm could tell that she wanted something in her mouth.
"I know you love his caring soul but I think what you really want is for him to be rough with you. To pound his cock into you hard and fast." Lady Ramkin moaned loudly, arching her back again. She nodded quickly.
That did it for Vimes. He shuddered and slumped against the wall as his control left him and he spent himself in his breeches like an inexperienced teenager. It had been too long, too long, since he had...well, done anything approaching sex. He was usually too drunk. When he wasn't drunk he was too cynical. As his head cleared and he felt the unpleasant cold and soggy aftermath bunching in the crotch of recollection, he peered again through the crack in the door as Mrs Palm turned gracefully towards the doorway. She smirked at him as she soundlessly made her way across the bedroom, the soft pile carpeting absorbing her footfalls. Behind her, Lady Ramkin was lost in her desires, her back arching off the bed, eyes closed tight.
Mrs Palm beckoned to Vimes and he slipped silently inside the room, the scent of intimacy heavy in the air and making his baser instincts roar. She winked at him as she stepped out on to the landing, the door closing with a barely perceptible click. Lady Ramkin was moaning on the bed, completely unaware that her trusted tutor had transformed into the object of her nightly fantasies.
Vimes stood and feasted his eyes for a moment, before reaching a decision. He quickly pulled off his shirt, the light film of sweat on his torso making it stick, and kicked off his breeches, grimacing slightly as the reminder of his earlier incident slid damply down his legs. He ran a hand through his dark brown hair, wondering fleetingly whether he smelled like an Ankh-Morpork sewer, before remembering Mrs Palm's seductively whispered comments to Sybil. He grinned as he continued to watch Sybil writhing breathlessly, but knew he needed to make his move soon before she realised Mrs Palm was no longer next to her.
Slowly, Vimes approached the panting woman on the bed. Part of him was still locked into disbelief that his relationship had gone from merely kissing Lady Ramkin to seeing her in the grip of acute sexual desire and hearing her masturbatory fantasies. Having women wantonly sprawled in front of him, getting more and more aroused whilst thinking of him, was not something that happened to him. His cock was like iron, walking was nearly impossible with all of his energy going to one place only.
Ever so gently, Vimes trailed his fingers up one of Lady Ramkin's out flung legs. Her eyes flickered open slowly, unfocused, staring at the ceiling.
"Rosie," she breathed.
Vimes bent over her torso slowly.
"Not Rosie," he whispered.
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