Chapter 131 - The Jade and Her Spark:

Mid December, 1780

"We are facing a new threat," Banastre was saying as he slapped the letter down on the table. Beth glanced up as Banastre and Whitty and several other Officers continued to talk. She sat beneath a large window, bathed in cold sunlight. He knew she didn't want to stay in the houses when the Legion made camp at a Plantation, but gave her no choice this time. For excuses, he used the cold, the winter, the rain, said he didn't want the baby to be harmed, didn't want her to catch a chill. But she knew the truth. He just wanted the privacy and comfort of an actual bed chamber for a change. When in camp, their joined tents were always guarded. Two soldiers, standing outside at all times. Hearing almost everything taking place within the canvas walls they guarded. Every conversation Banastre and Beth had, could be heard by whomever was on rotation. Every night when they went to bed - their activities could be heard.

And now that the book had fallen into Beth's hands, it was even worse. Weeks after receiving that astonishing book, Beth and Banastre had yet to finish it. The Legion had long since moved out from Winnsboro, Beth stayed with the baggage train as it moved up along the Broad River, while Banastre rode out to recruit locals and trouble the rebels. Banastre insisted that Beth not read the book alone, even though she was intrigued by the story part of the book, not just by those astonishing revealing scenes. Therefore, their time enjoying the book was limited to when - if - Banastre returned, and only at night.

They read the same scene night after night after night until tiring of it and moving on to the next one. Beth would have preferred to read it from cover to cover, for she did want to know the story, but Ban had his favourites and they were constantly back tracking - or flipping forward through the pages - to get to them.

As a result, they were barely half way through reading it even though, for weeks now, the couple had lain awake facing one another on that small cot in Beth's tent, Banastre's hands roving Beth's body and doing naughty things between her legs while she tried to read from Fanny Hill. When Fanny's activities became heated, Beth could barely read out loud without gasping and crying out, as Banastre busied himself with pleasuring her. It was exciting, titillating, wonderful, intoxicating.

But quite loud…

Last night, when Beth was simply reading the book to Banastre - the story part of the book, well before reaching the heart pounding parts. Even those passages were questionable. She whispered as she read, hoping the guards could not hear the content. For even when the two were not sporting during her recitals, it was clear that this was no ordinary book. Unmistakably so. Not with passages like: "he supposed I had left my maidenhead with some hobnail in the country." Not the sort of sentence that could be found in a more innocent novel.

Banastre asked her so many questions, constantly interrupting her, curious to discover if, during their sporting, Beth felt all of Fanny's heart flutterings and near faints and inflamed ecstasies. "Is that how you feel when I bring you to climax?" He asked her continually. And later, when Fanny lost her virginity to her beloved Charles. The pain Fanny described… Banastre asked with some concern if it had been as deeply painful for Beth, when he took hers. Beth laughed, remembering. "I've decided the author of this book must be a man, Ban," she'd said. "I can't imagine there's been a single women in the history of the entire world who 'fainted away with the sharpness of the pain'," she quoted, giggling. "I think it hurt," she said, casting her mind back. Or trying too. She'd been quite drunk the night she gave herself to Banastre. Then she'd shrug. "I honestly can't remember…"

"Well, that's just lovely," he complained, joking. "I crop your virgin flower and you don't even remember." Beth laughed at his referencing of the book. 'Virgin flower as yet un-cropped'. She was learning quite a few new phrases and words, phrases and words her father would be appalled to learn she now knew. She snuggled in closer to Banastre, then, and said, "here I lay, in the arms of the sweet relenting murderer of my virginity." Banastre threw back his head and laughed.

What the guards had thought, hearing all this, Beth could only guess at. Banastre insisted they could be trusted, none would spread gossip about them, but Beth was not so trusting. This was the reason they needed the privacy of a proper chamber. With four very thick walls and a lockable door.

Her chamber upstairs was a great luxury after living so long in a tent; a fire burned merrily, there were comfortable chairs and a chaise, and the bed was massive - it was certainly an inviting place to sleep. Banastre had his own chamber for the sake of appearances, but both of them knew he would not be sleeping in it.

"That Greene fellow?" Whitty asked now. "Mrs. Tavington, have you heard of him?"

"No, Lieutenant. I never heard his name until a few weeks ago, when you started discussing him," she replied.

"He's attempting to join with Burwell," Banastre said, heaving a sullen breath. "We can not allow this. Cornwallis will be taking steps to ensure it does not happen. He will place his entire battalion in the field, us included."

"Has he recalled the Green Dragoons from Fresh Water?" One Officer asked. Banastre gave him such a scowl; the fellow shot a glance at Beth, his face turning crimson. He wasn't supposed to mention this, it seemed. Banastre was still keeping his secrets. She'd forgiven him for keeping some - the letters from her father, for instance. He'd been trying to protect her. But this? Was he trying to protect her by keeping this secret? Her heart gave a lurch, she felt sick to her stomach. Was William on his way at that very moment? It was so much easier when she thought she'd never see him again!

"Colonel Tarleton?" Beth asked, uncoiling herself from her chair. She gazed up at him, stricken. "What is this?"

"The British Legion is to be summoned," he said reluctantly, meeting her gaze. "You need not fear, however. He will be sent wherever Cornwallis needs him to be, and we shall be sent where we're needed. We may not encounter his Dragoons at all. You certainly need not fear that you'll see him." He understood her so well. Beth felt the relief well up, chasing away the nausea.

"Oh," she subsided, biting her lip. To see William again. What would it be like? What would she do? Slap his face so hard, her handprint would be on his cheek for days. And Linda - she'd grab that doxy by the hair and drag her all over the camp. She'd demand he give back her inheritance, seeing that the damned camp Reverend would not help her secure it. She could not stand that William would spend a single shilling of her money on that doxy. Beth did her best to calm herself. No reason for them to encounter one another. Banastre would make sure of it. Protecting her, even now. William would not seek her out and Beth certainly would not go looking for him. It was disconcerting, that's all. That he was no longer to be at Fresh Water, would not be hundreds of miles away. The distance was closing between them and that, she found, she did not like at all.

At least he would no longer be sporting with his whore in Beth's own home...

"…Unable to do much without Martin," Whitty was saying.

"I hope that is the case also," Banastre said. "But we can not assume that Burwell and this General Greene are lacking in wits. For all we know, Martin might have learned everything he knows from those men." All of Banastre's Officers, and Banastre himself, turned as one to look at Beth. Oh, they were asking her, she realised. She shrugged.

"You know they are close friends, Burwell and my father," she said to Banastre. "But as I said, I've never heard of General Greene. I can't help you, I'm sorry."

With a curt nod, Banastre turned back to his conference, the men discussing where Green was in relation to Burwell and how long it would be before the two forces joined, and the efforts Cornwallis would need to go to, to prevent it from happening. Their meeting went on for some time. Beth grew hungry - and bored - and she withdrew. Nancy, her ever present maid, escorted her to a small chamber where a repast waited. Mr. Daniels - the Planter Grandee himself - was walking by the room, he happened to glance in. Saw her sitting there at the table. He glared, curled his lip, sniffed. She glared right back until he moved on. Stupid bastard. Let him snub her in front of Banastre. She scoffed to herself. The coward wouldn't dare. Banastre would string him up by his toenails. The thought amused her, that this Planter Grandee would look down his nose at her. Nancy had told her she had discovered that the Master often visited the slave quarters at night and that half the new babes in the quarters were sired by him. Filthy bastard, forcing himself on his slaves. If this was the calibre of person who'd look down his nose at her, what did she care? He was lower than she could ever be.

She finished her repast and made her way up to her chamber. The book lay on a table. It made her pulse race, just looking at it. The cover was innocent, no one would guess at the treasures within. A green sleeve, leather, plain, unassuming. But inside… She flipped it open, thumbed through until she found some of the drawings. My goodness, she never imagined such pictures could exist. Fanny, sitting up in her bed, coverlets pooling around her body. She was naked, her breasts bared, her hair falling wildly about her shoulders. She had her hand and was cupping a man's scrotum. Who would draw such a thing? The man was dressed but his breeches were open at the front. His hips were pushed forward, he was staring down at his member. Which was massive, according to Fanny. The fellow was a virgin, he had no idea what to do with a woman. Fanny's hand cupped him, she gazed up at him with an astonished, yet reassuring smile. Beth's mouth went dry. She closed the book, heart pounding. It was then that she noticed one of the pages had been folded at the corner, earmarked - probably by Banastre. She arched a brow, wondering what special place he'd marked for later reading. She flipped the book open again and began to read. She had not gotten this far into the book yet and was uncertain why Fanny would do it, but as Beth read, it seemed that Fanny had agreed to take a man to her bed, a man with peculiar tastes no other woman was willing to fulfil. He could not find any women willing to assist him in reaching his satisfaction in the way he enjoyed. But Fanny agreed to it - increasing Beth's suspicion that the book was written by a man, that a woman would never agree to such things. There was even a drawing for the scene - of a near naked Fanny draped with a sheer shift, with a small whip of sorts in her hand, the fellow - Mr. Barville, the author named him - laying before her, naked as the day he was born, presenting his bare buttocks up to her. As Beth read, Fanny began wielding the whip, smacking Mr. Barville's backside. In turn, he did the same to Fanny, who cried and howled and although the author claimed that Fanny enjoyed it, Beth couldn't see how she possibly could. And why would anyone? Much in the book was definitely to Beth's liking, but much most certainly was not. Why in the world would Banastre mark this page? Strange man. She sat curled in a chair by the fire, opened the book the book to the place she and Banastre had left off reading the night before. Fanny had just betrayed her current benefactor and lover, Mr. H, and as punishment, he had set her adrift with only a few guineas - her farewell payment.

Though Beth tried not to dwell on it, the scene skirted a little too closely to William and Linda. When Beth first married William, when she discovered that Linda was still in camp, he told her that he'd had made a promise to Linda that when their affair came to an end, at their parting, he would give her one last, very generous payment. One thousand pounds. It had sent Beth into apoplexy, the amount. Reading of Fanny's parting from Mr. H had been a chilling reminder. And here was Fanny, receiving only a few guineas. How generous William was with Beth's money.

It'd all been lies of course. Linda had been in camp the entire time, keeping out of Beth's sight, the other camp followers hiding her, keeping William and Linda's secret… He'd never had any intention of giving her a farewell payment.

Beth had been only too pleased to be past that chapter in the book. Now, she settled in to read of the beginning of Fanny's next adventure, living in Mrs. Cole's house, her new landlady, a milliner during the day and a provider of sweet pleasures to gentlemen during the evening. Fanny was but one with several other girls; Emily, Louisa and Harriet, living in Mrs. Cole's house. They pretended to be Mrs. Cole's assistants during the day. But all of them were women of pleasure. Women of pleasure. Such a fine name to give a doxy. Is that what Linda was? A woman of pleasure? Beth shoved the thought aside. She would not identify that faithless whore Linda with the likeable Fanny, a woman who definitely had her own sense of honour. She forced herself to forget Linda and William, and to lose herself in the story. For after Fanny had been introduced to her new companions, Mrs. Cole bought the men into the chamber. Beth had read similar scenes earlier, where Fanny watched others couple from a place of concealment. Now, she was a part of the larger group of cavorting men and women, all of them watching as each couple sported with one another in turn. Beth was well warmed - and not only by the fire - by the time Banastre arrived. He took one look at her, sitting in the chair, cheeks red with arousal, the book in her hands, and he began to smile. She launched from the chair and into his arms.

"Ah, my gallant, my spark!" She cried as passionately as she imagined Fanny might. Banastre chuckled down at her. Those terms were used often in the book, Beth was certainly getting a fine education. "What took you so long?" She asked breathlessly, her fingers already working his buttons.

"I'm sorry," he replied, just as breathless, "I had reports to go over and there was this -"

"Oh, I don't care, just kiss me," she held him fast, groaning against his lips. He came up for air, pulse racing. That book - it was the best thing to ever happen to him. He'd be the envy of all his friends, if they knew he got to listen to Fanny Hill read aloud every evening in his beloved's breathy voice. He got to live all of Fanny's stories with his own lady love. He wanted to do everything with Beth, reenact every scene she read to him, all those things that made her quim so exceedingly wet. She must want to as well, he decided. Oh, she could read barely from the book at times, such was her arousal, especially when he reached between her legs and began teasing her wonderful sweet clit. His life was just… the most magnificent life a man could dream of. No one could imagine such a life as this. The woman you love, in your life, in your bed and willing to do absolutely anything you desire. It couldn't get better than this… He slid his hand up under her skirts; she parted her thighs with a groan, he reached that special core of her and he almost died when his fingers dipped into the ocean. "Just what part were you reading?" He asked, voice strangled.

"Fanny is living with Mrs. Cole," Beth said breathlessly, grinding against his hand. "Her new friends are doing an… initiation. She had to watch them couple with their sparks, one by one, until it was her turn and -"

"Oh, and you enjoyed that, did you? You naughty thing," he laughed down at her, his hand still up inside her skirts, fingers exploring her sex. "You enjoyed it the other times Fanny spied on others coupling - remember at the beginning when she was with Phoebe?" Beth nodded and smiled and kissed him hard. She took a hold of his hand and tugged, trying to lead him to the bed. He held fast, however, gazing at her - a gleam in his eye. He knew just what to do now, Beth had unknowingly paved the way for him to slip into the scene he wished to play out. He'd folded the page so he could find it easily later, but hadn't thought how he could entice Beth to play it out with him. Now, he knew. "You are naughty, Beth," he said in a mock severe voice. "For reading on ahead without me. It's ours, we should only read it together and yet here you are, enjoying it all to yourself."

"I'm sorry, it was there on the table and I just…" She blushed, smiled. Embarrassed and aroused. It was delightful - that combination.

"No, I'm afraid it just will not do," he teased, tapping her nose. "We will read it together or not at all. You must agree to it."

"Alright," she bit her lip, sensing he was not entirely serious, though he tried for a hard tone.

"And we will recreate those wonderful scenes, only with each other. Yes?"

"Who else would I wish to do any of those things with?" She asked.

"Very good answer. I'm pleased to have your agreement, but for now, we must discuss your punishment," he said, trying for severity and failing dismally. A breath caught in her throat.

"Punishment?" She asked, suddenly hesitant.

"For such a severe transgression," he replied, leaning down and kissing her neck. "I must find the page I need of our dear Fanny's Memoirs, for guidance. Open the book, my love."

Beth did, opened it to the page, and stared at the picture she'd studied before, of the gentleman lying prone on the chaise with Fanny struck him with the whip. Beth lifted her eyes to Banastre's.

"Read from here, my jade," he commanded. She was not offended at his calling her a jade, though if he had a few days earlier, she would have been mortified. As she called him her spark, he now called her his jade. Terms from the book, not meant to insult, another of their naughty little secrets. She began to read from the place he tapped with the finger of his free hand - his other hand was still rather busy under her skirts, making her want to squirm.

"Uh… alright… 'and determining a conflux of the spirits of pleasure towards those flagging shrivel parts, that rise to life only by virtue of this titillating arduous created by the discipline of their opposites, with which they have so surprising a consent' - wait, what does that mean?" She asked, lifting her bleary eyed gaze to his. "…Discipline… you mean… this is how you would punish me!"

"There can be pleasure in it," he kissed her nose. Something William knew well, if the rumours were true. He'd had Linda beat him and in turn had beaten Linda - William himself had likely got the idea from this very book in the first place. Banastre had never tried it himself but he'd always been quite curious. Now was his change to explore…

"You are the naughty one," Beth said, hitting him softly with the book. "You had this planned! It was folded at that page and everything!"

"And I was finding the most suitable way of executing it," he laughed - it was a giddy giggle, one of anticipation. "And your terrible transgression is the perfect thing! You forged ahead with the book without me, and for that, you shall be disciplined, my jade."

"I am not going to let you strike me, Banastre!" She snapped the book shut.

"Oh come now, you don't know if you'll like it or not until you try it," he tried to coax her.

"I recall very well how painful it is to be struck on the bare rump, Banastre Tarleton. Or have you forgotten that William used his belt on me?"

Banastre's face turned white, his smile fading. "I hadn't forgotten," he said slowly. "I just… didn't think that that would be like this. That was brutal, what he did to you. It wasn't for fun or enjoyment. That was just pure rage and I still want to kill him for it. This - what I propose, would be like the fellow here does," he took the book from her fingers, flipped back through to the page. "You start off easy, light, and then build up… Mr. Barville clearly liked it and so did Fanny, in the end. I just thought… that perhaps…"

"I might?" She finished for him, arms folded. She wasn't angry with him, but nor was she willing to enact this particular scene. Not the part that would see her bum reddened, anyway. "How many times do I have to say it? This book is not real. Fanny and her memoirs - they are not real. They were written by a man. That's why she enjoyed it so very much," she paused, gazed at his pouting lips. He looked ready to sulk. "Very well, let's give it a try, shall we?" She gave him a smile bright enough to dazzle. He cocked his head, her sudden grin making him suspicious.

"You do want to try it now?" He asked slowly, licking his lips with anticipation. He was not convinced this dream was about to come true however, there was something about the curve of her lips, the arch of her eyebrow. "What are you scheming, little jade?" He asked her, lifting his chin.

"Nothing at all, my spark," she said, a little too innocently for his liking. "If you wish to try it, then try it we shall. Exactly how the picture shows."

"But," he glanced down at the picture. "That shows Mr. Barville laying there and…" He lifted his eyes to hers. "Oh." He'd wanted to do it to her - not to hurt her like Tavington had hurt her. But because Fanny had enjoyed it so very much. He still wasn't convinced the book was anything but Fanny's memoirs - real and true. How else would the author be able to describe a woman's pleasure so exquisitely? And if Fanny could enjoy it, so could Beth. And he looked forward to the part afterward - when he'd give Beth comfort. Just as Fanny had received comfort from her dear Mr. Barville, when he had her weeping and aroused at the same time.

"We shall do it, but it won't be me getting whipped," she laughed at his expression. "Not so eager now, are we?"

"Is that a challenge?" He asked her, taking a step back from her. In a lewd act designed to shock and arouse her, he placed is moistened fingers in his mouth and sucked - the fingers that had been toying between her legs. "A test of bravery, hmm? How strong can your arm possibly be?" To her astonishment, he began to shrug off his jacket. He undressed slowly, until he was completely naked. He padded across the thick carpet bare footed for his riding crop and several ribbons, then returned and handed them all to her. His phallus stood out from his body like a sword at the ready. "What's the matter love? Not so eager now, are you?"

"You'd really do this?" She gasped, holding the crop in a lank fist, the ribbons from her fingers. What he wanted those for… Oh, to tie him up. Good God. For answer, he lay down on the bed, stretched out on his stomach. His head on the pillow, auburn queue dangling across his neck. His arms reaching for the headboard. He waggled his fingers at her, he was ready to be tied. She stared down at him, completely at a loss. How to even begin? She hadn't really read the scene, only skimmed it, to get an idea of what it was about. What if she hurt him? Wasn't that the idea? She set aside the riding crop, used the ribbons to bind first one wrist and then the other.

"You need to undress," he told her in a thick voice. His face was turned to her, so he could watch. She disrobed, nervous eyes on his, as she stepped out of her skirts and petticoats. She discarded her bodice and came to stand before him in her stays, her short shift falling to her thighs. "I need to get you a dishabille," he said. That strip of floaty material that had flowed around Fanny's body in the drawing. Beth licked her lips, imagining herself wearing something so sheer and flimsy.

"Yes, I think you'd better." It would not fit her for long, her stomach was getting larger by the day and by, the swell extended out slightly further than her breasts. "Sooner rather than later," she said, her fingers caressing her stomach over the swell. He grinned at her. She picked up the crop. Touched his calf with the tip, watched as he gave a slight jump. She trailed the end lazily along the backs of his legs, drifting higher and higher until she reached his bare buttocks. On impulse, she dipped the crop between his legs, it caressed the underside of his scrotum. Banastre gave a lazy sigh and parted his thighs. Beth's eyes widened, her heart pounded. Very much out of her element, now. Surely he felt the same?

"Have you done this before?" She asked, quite breathless.

"Never," a quiet croak. "But there's a first for everything, isn't there? Might be I quite enjoy it."

"Might be you don't," she pointed out.

"Never know 'till we begin, yes?" He lifted his head and looked at her. She struck him then, lightly at first. He frowned, shuffled his body, tried to make himself comfortable. What did feel nice, was his phallus rubbing the slick coverlet. She struck lightly again. On the fifth, she struck harder. Noticeably so. Banastre tensed. He continued to shuffle beneath the crop as fine red lines began to appear. She continued to strike harder, until those lines blended to a blur on his skin. He continued to squirm, she wondered if he would spill his seed on the coverlet as Mr. Barville had. Bright red strips across his flesh. This must have been how her rump looked, when William struck her with his belt. She was getting no enjoyment from this and she wasn't sure if he was, either. She dropped her arm.

"Can we stop, Ban? I really don't want to do this," she said, feeling no sweet arousal whatsoever. "I mean, you're not enjoying it, are you?" She asked, not entirely sure. All that squirming he was doing might have been him yearning toward release, rubbing his phallus on the blankets to increase sensation. Or it might have been discomfort, with no arousal at all… "I'll keep going if you want, but…" She was not even remotely aroused, herself.

"No, let's stop," he pulled his wrists free of the loosely tied ribbons, shifted until he was sitting before her, feet touching the floor. His face was as red as his bum.

"Well? What did you think of it?" She asked.

"Eh," he shrugged. "Perhaps some fancies are best left unexplored. I don't understand it though, I quite enjoyed reading it. It was exciting."

"We don't have to try everything in the book, Ban," she laughed down at him, tossing the crop to the floor.

"You should never balk at exploring something new, my love," he said, chastising as he pulled her down to sit her on his lap. "We can always stop halfway through, but whats the point of not at least trying?"

"Hmm, if you say so," she said in a distracted sort of way as Banastre began kissing her neck. Their little experiment might have failed but their afternoon alone was far from over.

"I chose my scene, you choose yours," he said, determined they play out one of the scenes to its fullest. His had failed, but there were still plenty to explore. "Which one?"

Thinking of the drawing of Fanny, with her hand cupping the virgin fellow's manhood, Beth began to smile.