Chapter 26: Proper Party Etiquette?
The ballroom and main house of the Burwell plantation flickered against the dark March night, candles burning brightly in all the rooms, making it look like it had come to life as some behemoth. The paths around the house were lined with small luminary lanterns, and torches were dispersed for additional light on the greens. Well dressed people danced, milled about, and sat. Carriages were parked up and down the lane and onto the grass with their drivers standing or sitting about, or stretched out in some spot dozing as they waited on their owners to appear again after an evening of cheer.
Captain Hugh Bordon, who had been in the epicenter of all the activity in the ballroom, wandered away without excusing himself from a group of junior officers. They had been involved in a conversation about some village in Pennsylvania that they had wandered through three years go before joining the cavalry. He had only stood idly about listening to their story. As they droned on, he made the decision to slip away and doubted that they would miss his presence. And frankly, the man was bored.
He made his way to the hors d'oeuvre table, ready to refresh himself with some punch. Once there the redcoat officer opted for some champagne instead. He lifted the glass of bubbly slowly and tentatively to his lips, having second thoughts. The captain knew that he should not have another drink—he'd had enough already. Bordon was at the edge, still clinging to the pleasant side of imbibing, feeling the warmth of the alcohol traversing his body, making him loose and calm. One more drink would make him tipsy. The officer decided to drink slowly, staving off the initial stages of inebriation and loss of control for as long as he could.
The dragoon second in command was a dashing figure with the coupe in his hand, sipping it slowly; almost regally. He was dressed his best in the formal uniform of the cavalry, reserved for only the most formal occasions such as a ball, wedding, or perhaps an appearance before a monarch. All bits of gold buttons and silver buckles on his shoes were polished to glistening. His black shoes, shiny against his stark white stockings, made him look like some prominent Loyalist. He was uncomfortable in these dress shoes—he'd rather be in a pair of casual and broken in riding boots.
His feet hurting in his buckled shoes, Bordon looked around the room for an empty chair. Finding none, he walked toward the wall. He picked an open spot there and leaned on his left side against it, his weight now on his left foot. Crossing his right ankle over his left, he surveyed the party from his casual stance. The musicians played a quadrille as a few couples moved about in time to the music. British red was interspersed with bright and muted material worn by civilians. The guests that weren't moving in time to the music were talking, flirting and drinking. And the Burwell family servants wove their way through the crowd carrying trays, refilling drinks, opening doors, waiting on the guests hand and knee as instructed.
Captain Bordon's eyes scanned the room with purpose, finally picking out the source of his desire from among the party guests, soldiers, and servants flitting about. His gaze came to rest upon Miss Burwell, who was at the door greeting a guest that had arrived late. He watched her as she curtsied deeply to the man, letting him kiss her hand and smiling demurely as he did. And though he could not hear her above the din, he could tell by the concern of interest on her face and how she listened to the man and exchanged words with him that she was being a gracious hostess.
The officer enjoyed watching her and had found his eyes wandering back to find her several times during the evening. The dragoon second in command had to keep those looks discreet lest he reveal his feelings to his fellow soldiers. However, the younger cavalrymen weren't so secretive, nonchalantly speaking of how different she looked from her daily garb of common farm dress, dirty from chores and hair frazzled and mussed, making it hard to tell the well-to-do society girl apart from her own servants.
Indeed, Hugh Bordon nearly choked on his drink when he had seen her hours ago, speaking with the servants at the last minute before the first guest arrived. She had been a vision of loveliness that he was not at all expecting. He had assumed that though formally dressed, that she would look more like a young girl of eleven or so at her first ball, having to leave early with the other children for bedtime. Instead, she looked like a young lady—nigh a young woman—and actually had a bit of curve to that lithe body of hers. He chuckled to himself, imagining her to be some sort of contortionist, or perhaps a liquid genie of some sort, that she was probably folded or poured into her stay.
Bordon knew better, though, from being married and later from having his share in helping to remove the damned things! He knew that the undergarment in question was laced up tightly to create those pleasing curves. The captain recalled seeing Sarah laced—or rather, bound—so tightly into a stay that she could hardly breathe. But that garment of bondage despite its faults did have a definite asset: it created a beautiful bosom with sometimes bountiful cleavage. Now, Miss Betsy Burwell did not have so much of a lady's buxom chest yet, but at least it was there now for him—and all the other men—to notice.
Her newly found curves and cleavage added to the beauty of her frock. Likewise her dress, the palest of blue silk which shimmered even in the candlelight, trimmed with pastel pink and silver, showed off her youthful bosom. The dress must have been purchased in Charles Towne he surmised, for it was of the latest fashion. The young lady's hair had been twisted high onto her head to rival the other more stately women in the room who would have more access to the latest style. She did not over do the jewelry; just a touch of matching dainty earrings and equally as small choker necklace with matching bracelet.
A pale pink fan finished off her attire. Bordon, knowing the way of society ladies, noticed that she had no experience in how to use her fan and speak in the mute language of it. The officer guessed that was due to the fact that her mother had died before her first ball as a young lady of consenting age. Bordon watched her as she used it, not inappropriately, but using it in a childlike way. Small matter, though, for it was not without its charm, reminding all who knew her that she was indeed still a young girl of fifteen with no mother to guide her.
Betsy Burwell's genteel manners as hostess coupled with her youth seemed to win all the people in the room over. And tonight, the captain was more interested in her than ever. The man had been truly beguiled by her and her transformation this evening, and had barely been able to get a gentlemanly greeting past his own lips to the girl, hoping not to appear as an uncultured boor.
He gazed at her still, as he sipped his champagne, and now, for once, had some inkling of what she might just look like as an adult woman and how she might conduct herself. At that moment, he felt a pang in his heart and a growing desire in his loins that he hoped would not turn into a full blown erection. So he fought it the best way he could: he downed the rest of his bubbly then quickly reached for another glass of the same and threw it back fast, as well.
His eyes followed the girl as she strode a few feet from where she stood to join a group that included Mr. and Mrs. Day. The captain cocked his head to the side as he watched Hannah Day, Miss Burwell's close friend, whisper in her ear. He was equally intrigued when the two girls linked arms and sauntered out of the room together, watching them until they disappeared just past the door. He grinned at his own presumption that the two girls, thick as thieves, were leaving to go somewhere quiet, perhaps the parlor, for a delightful gossip.
Pulling himself off the wall where he had so casually leaned and looked like some rogue, he reached out and snagged a fresh glass of madiera from a tray that Raymond, one of the young slaves, was carrying toward the punch table. After a sip, his solace was interrupted when he found his commander standing before him with the beautiful widow Selton on his arm.
The sharp edge of Colonel Tavington's voice, though kept in a low tone, seemed to contrast with the warm softness of the alcohol swimming in Hugh Bordon's body. "Captain, I'm leaving you in charge for a bit. Mrs. Selton needs some air."
"Sir," Bordon acknowledged with a nod as he stood up straight.
The officer watched the couple walk slowly to the door. As they did he grinned and stifled a chuckle. Bordon was no dolt; he knew where they were going. The dragoon adjutant assumed that they were retreating to some quiet corner to couple. He knew his superior only too well, having caught sight upon past occasion, of the colonel rutting some female party guest against a wall or bent over a railing. The captain quickly swallowed the rest of his madeira just as the couple passed though the doorway.
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After a short stroll through the simple gardens of the Burwell plantation with Charlotte on his arm, William Tavington quickly led her around the corner of the nearest outbuilding. It was there, in the dark and away from the others, that the officer pinned Mrs. Selton squarely against the wall. The hard brick of the weaving house was cold against her back, but the dragoon's body pressed securely into her front was warm and inviting.
"William!" she exclaimed. Her startled words were stifled when his mouth crashed into hers. The pretty widow did not protest, instead lazily winding her arms about is neck. Their tongues entwined, tasting the evening's drinks in one another's mouths.
His arms slipped around the lady's middle, one arm holding her firmly to him while the other slid low to caress her shapely backside through many layers of satin dress and linen underskirts. They kissed deeply another moment until his mouth left hers. Tavington's lips then traced her jaw line up to her ear, leaving a searing trail there that coaxed her eyes into a soft flutter.
"William? What?" she asked, her voice a euphoric whisper and her eyes hooded and mesmerized.
"I want you now," he murmured in her ear, his breath on it making her quiver.
She lifted her right leg slightly and lazily twisted it around the colonel's legs, her foot coming to rest on the back of his left calf. "Instead of later in your bed?" Her voice was dreamy as if she were far away, speaking alone into the thin air on some distant mountaintop.
His lips moved from her ear and down her neck, kissing her softly there. As the dragoon commander continued to nuzzle her enticingly, his voice was muffled as he spoke, his mouth against her skin, in answer to her query. "I fully intend to have you there, as well."
He softly urged her legs apart with a gentle nudge to her ankles. She complied, her skirts rustling quietly as they fell between her parted limbs. William brought his right leg upwards, bringing layers of skirt up with it. The officer bent his leg and pressed his knee in between Charlotte's legs. Slowly, he moved his leg to where her womanhood, still shrouded in layers of material, rested firmly on top of his breech covered thigh. Tavington slid it sensually against her. And though there was no direct skin contact between the couple, there was just enough friction from their actions alone to create a delicious, sexual heat.
The widow shivered from the sensation. "We will be caught," she purred.
"No, we won't," he assured her. His lips soon found hers again, where they brushed softly against hers and his tongue teased from between them.
Charlotte began her own rhythm, moving her pelvis back and forth across his thigh. She felt high and dizzy with lust, making her forget momentarily that they were standing against a stark, old brick wall. It was as if they were in the privacy of her room and she was astride his lap, riding his leg. And after a moment of slow strokes against him, the woman began to move her hips in a frenzied fashion, grinding on his leg, needing to feel him.
William lowered his leg, making his lover frown and whimper at his depriving her of that sensation. His last action was to catch one side of her skirt as he lowered his leg, keeping her dress partially raised and exposing her shapely legs.
The colonel's hand snaked below the frilliness of her skirt to where his fingertips soon found the fleshy folds of her sex. He lightly traced her labia then parted the lips to delve further in. The pads of his fingers were met with silky moisture and slid easily over her skin. She had become so wet and aroused that William was pleased to find it had dampened the layer of petticoat closest to her bottom. His fingers spread her creaminess about her quim then two digits pushed up into her wet cave, resting in the warmth within forcing a dreamy sigh from his lady.
He drove his fingers up again, a little deeper this time, then again, slow and deep. Slow and deep. "Oh, William!" Charlotte cooed.
"How wonderful that I make you that wet!" Tavington teased, a look of triumph on his face.
She said nothing then put her mouth to his, where the couple melted into a slow, deep kiss.
The couple's heated foreplay made them forget themselves. Charlotte liked how good Colonel Tavington was in bed, and had grown fond of having him about, though he was the enemy. He loved the womanly experience and willing abandon the widow possessed, enough to give the woman an ease of familiarity and willingness to be daring in bed. Their passion allowed William to forget momentarily that Mrs. Selton was screwing him in return for something. They could tease each other almost affectionately, as if they were true lovers and not trading sex for mutual objectives.
He withdrew his hand from beneath her dress as they continued kissing, her skirts falling back down to cover her legs with a flutter. Her lips left his, moving across his jaw and ending at his ear. The softness of her mouth and breath falling on the shell of his ear made him sigh.
Mrs. Selton's hand moved down his body to the front of his woolen dress pants. She noted that she could feel his arousal and that it was much easier to take care of it through the pliable material of wool rather than the stiff, unforgiving leather of his riding breeches. Charlotte loved this and took advantage of it.
Easily locating his hardened member, she carressed it through the material of his pants, slowly, taking her time to move her hand up and down the full length of it. As she did, she kissed slowly at his neck, wishing that his damned high collar and ascot were not in the way. Her tongue flicked at the skin, tasting him, as her lips left wet kisses at his throat. All the while, her hand pressed into his groin, outlining his erection, making it rage and twitch against her fingers. The low grunts of approval from Tavington assured Charlotte that she was in command of the dragoon commander—at least for this moment.
Charlotte, never afraid to touch the colonel, unfastened the top button of his placket and snaked her hand under the wool to find the warmth of his skin. She gripped his hardness firmly in her fist, and squeezed it tightly, nearly painfully, within her hand. The woman pulsed her grip slowly a couple of times, the colonel's phallus twitching in response. William's mouth sought hers again, taking it in a hard, deep kiss, somehow hoping that may give a bit or relief—or distraction—from what her hand was doing to him.
After a moment of more wet kisses, he felt her fist slide up and down his member, root to tip, then over again. She let go, and let her fingers trace the length of it in feathery light touches, stopping only at the head of it. Charlotte felt his cock weeping already, just a drop. She ran the pads of her fingers over the tip, catching that bit of his cream, and smoothed it around the end of it, massaging his essence into the head.
Then she enclosed his rod in her hand again, and moved it slowly and firmly up and down the shaft once more. Her hand was driving the colonel to shear madness. "Christ woman!" he growled low against her neck.
Another moment of her fisting was all he could take. Tavington was too close to the edge and wasn't thrilled at soiling his dress trousers. He'd rather leave his semen deep inside her warm, wet quim. He put his own hand into his pants just past his waistband and gripped her wrist strongly, effectively stopping her sensual actions.
"Lift your skirt," he commanded.
"Here? William, you are scandalous!" Charlotte pronounced, teasing him in a whisper.
Colonel Tavington responded by nipping playfully at her left earlobe. His response was airy and lost against the peachy fold of her ear. "Just do it!"
The pretty widow complied, reaching downwards slowly, wanting to make her lover wait. Equally as slow, she lazily gathered the many layers of her skirts into her hands. In some remnants of being shy, which had left her years ago, she held the skirt high enough to bare her legs, yet just at the juncture of her thighs to her trunk to hide her bare femininity.
Kneeling before her, William pushed both her hands holding the bunched up material a bit higher, enough to expose her womanhood. He aligned his face with the pale thatch of hair between her legs. After taking an instant to admire her there, he breathed on her blonde curls as he slid his hands behind each of her knees.
Charlotte shivered as he did, just enough for him to notice and let him know just how much he was arousing her. "Ah...William..." Her voice was lost in the ether that she seemed to be caught up in.
He slid his hands up over the backs of her thighs to her bottom. Once there, he kneaded and caressed the round orbs of her ass as he continued to let her feel his teasing breath falling on her pubic hair, which did not create enough of a shield to prevent it from being felt on the skin beneath it.
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Betsy Burwell and her friend Hannah Day had no qualms about leaving the main party area. All the guests that had responded had arrived and were being seen to. The British generals and visiting dignitaries were being charmed by Hannah's husband, John, who spoke frankly of the fertile lands of the colony and more to be found out on the frontier, snagging them with dreams of wide open spaces and monetary possibilities.
The two friends had left the ball, arms linked, looking for a quiet place to catch up on their girly chatter. The rooms of the main house's first floor were not full, but occupied with others seeking quiet spots. The front veranda and lawn had partygoers milling about as well. The two young ladies soon found themselves winding through the small garden on the estate, which seemed to have all its benches full of gossiping women, men smoking pipes, and an occasional couple in the midst of flirtations.
Hannah and Betsy exited the farm's small park and headed on to a gravel path that linked some of the furthest work buildings to her grandfather Burwell's old house next door. Miss Burwell steered them toward the front of the weaving house, which had a small front porch with a bench.
As they rounded a corner in the darkness, they were startled to hear a man and woman speaking softly, interspersed with the wet sounds of kisses. The girls jumped off the path immediately and ducked behind some bushes. The shrubs, which had lost most of their small leaves from the winter, proved a poor hiding place. The young women were sure that they would be seen through the sparse branches.
They both squinted in the darkness as they peered through the foliage—rather, the lack of—trying to discover the identities of the clandestine couple. With only the light of the half moon above, they soon discovered who was against the wall of the weaver's building.
At first, the two girls were astonished to the point of silence to see a couple together, doing naughty things, right there before them. But the stunned silence soon turned to amusement when they identified the two as Colonel Tavington and the widow Selton.
Putting their hands over their mouths, Hannah and Betsy stifled their giggles. "How about that," Mrs. Day whispered humorously. "Fornicating in the open like a couple of hares!"
Betsy choked back a chuckle. "He usually...uh...' interrogates' her in the privacy of her bed chambers, I hear!"
"Looks as if his questions couldn't wait that long," Hannah chortled back.
They looked on in quiet amazement at the position of the two. Mrs. Selton looked to be in the throes of either ecstasy or anxiety. The colonel was on his knees before her, his head between her legs with one of them thrown over his shoulder, seemingly balancing her body and worshiping her at the same time.
"Oh William!" the young ladies heard Mrs. Selton exclaim, "I've missed you so!"
"Oh, what a jest!" Hannah whispered sarcastically. "She will miss her house more after he burns it down!"
"He is busy and placated with her for the moment," Betsy replied back jokingly.
"Yes, for now until he tires of her or she betrays him," Mrs. Day pointed out.
"Her moaning must bolster his manly pride," Miss Burwell smirked.
"This is pathetic," Hannah said, disgusted after a couple of moments of watching the couple. She knew, as most did, that Mrs. Selton went to Colonel Tavington's bed only to keep her plantation intact. "I can't watch anymore of this farce!" Hannah Day stood to leave, but Betsy yanked her skirt, pulling her friend back down into the bushes.
"What are they doing?" Miss Burwell asked quietly.
"Don't be so shocked, Betsy. They are not doing anything different from what you read of in Fanny Hill!"
"I don't remember that!" she remarked, trying her hardest to keep amazement at the scene from raising her voice above a murmur.
"The book has pictures," Hannah reminded in a hushed voice, still watching the couple at work before them.
Apparently, Colonel Tavington and Mrs. Selton hadn't heard the girls and kept on with their amorous pursuits. Either that, or else the two were so passion filled that they cared not at being watched.
"This is different," Betsy insisted quietly. "They are right before our eyes!"
Hannah cocked her head to the side and snickered again as she watched the dragoon commander and the local widow. "Well, seeing it now and considering who it is, it is hilarious!"
The girls laughed again, doing their best to keep the laughter from drifting beyond the confines of the spartan bush that hid them. "Oh, this is disgusting," Hannah murmured. "She is only with him to keep her house."
"I can't watch this anymore," Betsy said as she took her friend's hand. The two slid quietly from their spot, and slinked off into the darkness, heading on the grass out away from the barns and toward the field.
They spoke again once out of earshot of the lovers. "We are not proving to be very good voyeurs, are we?" Hannah's comment made Miss Burwell roll her eyes.
"Why is she here?" asked Mrs. Day as the two friends sauntered in the cool night.
"The colonel insisted she be invited." Betsy looked back the direction of the couple, who were now out of sight, and scowled.
"I suppose she is staying in his quarters," Hannah smirked.
"Of course," answered Betsy. "She didn't even have the decency to request a room of her own for the night, to at least keep up appearances."
"Well, her farm is still standing, so she must be keeping the colonel VERY satisfied!" Hannah burst into laughter at that point. She stopped walking and doubled over as she continued to giggle. Betsy joined in, both girls now trying to keep their mirth contained and quiet.
After a moment, the giggles had died down. The two friends then strolled slowly in the darkness, enjoying a moment of silence.
Betsy broke the quiet with a question to her friend. "Do you and John have relations...like that?" The innocent girl, though 'corrupted by the rubbish of the book Fanny Hill', as Captain Bordon had chided, was truly still fascinated by what she had seen. Having never engaged in the sexual act, she was full of curiosity.
"Well, not against the wall of an outbuilding!" Hannah exclaimed, threatening again to burst into a fit of laughter. "We do that...and more! Usually in our bed, though. We're not as desperate as those two back there!"
"Hannah!"
"You asked!" Mrs. Day shot back. Hannah paused and breathed a sigh. Then she linked her arm through Miss Burwell's in hopes of being a comfort to the inexperienced girl. She coaxed her along in a slow walk.
"Betsy," she began, wanting to reassure her friend, "when you and Colonel Clark are married, you will do things such as that in the privacy of your chambers. And, it will be easy and you won't be embarrassed because you will develop trust and intimacy with him. And I'm sure you will find love with him, as well. You will want to do things like that."
Miss Burwell looked at Hannah and said nothing. Instead, she let out a nervous giggle then forced a smile.
As the two friends walked for a moment in silence, the subject of men and women together in bed would not leave her mind. And the picture of Mrs. Selton and Colonel Tavington stayed in her head. After a moment, it evolved. It went from the fascination of seeing two people coupling, to the Colonel pushing Betsy down onto the couch in his office. She was troubled as she recollected the dragoon commander's advance and then his threat to erase her virginity.
The two stopped, and Betsy pretended to look at the stars in the sky with Hannah, as the married girl pointed out certain stars and constellations. Miss Burwell pondered a moment her desperate situation with Tavington and if she should confess it to her best friend. She wondered if her friend could help, other than emotional support.
However, the image of John Day, Hannah's husband, came into her mind. She recalled how diplomatic and gracious the man had been to invite the dragoons into his wedding reception. And she had witnessed him speaking cordially with many of the party guests tonight, including the British officers. It was apparent to the girl that Mr. Day was trying to help himself and his new young wife by staying as neutral as possible during the conflict, yet be accommodating as far as he could to either side. In the process, he was keeping her, his homestead and his family safe.
No, she thought. She could not bring the Day's into her trouble and put them into the middle of potential dragoon ugliness. Betsy swallowed hard, deciding to keep her mouth shut.
After another quiet moment of stargazing, Hannah turned to Betsy and smiled. "I'm pregnant. You are the second person I have told."
"Oh, Hannah!" Betsy Burwell embraced her friend, having had the feeling that it probably would not have been long after the Day's wedding day to hear news of a child. "When?"
"Near the end of summer," answered Hannah. "We both have to tell our parents yet. Then the news, I'm sure, will be all over the countryside."
"Your secret is safe with me," Betsy promised.
"John would like a son," said Hannah.
"Of course," Betsy laughed. She was not uninformed to that part of life. A son, at least one, was always desired for inheritance and to pass on the family name. She knew that painfully. It was a fact that all women knew and had to make a sort of peace with. "Congratulations! You and John are certainly blest!"
"That we are," Hannah agreed, smiling at her friend.
Just then, she heard a coach leave and turned to look that direction, unable to see the driveway. She knew she had better get back for if one guest was leaving, then soon the others may as well. Miss Burwell knew she had to be the good hostess, as expected by her redcoat captors, and bid adieu to the partygoers. "We should head back now. Your husband will be wondering what happened to you. And I don't need the lobsters thinking I am out here conspiring."
With that, the two friends trotted back toward the brightly lit assembly hall.
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William Tavington shifted his hands from Charlotte's naked bottom to the sides of her ass, gliding his fingers in teasing circles over the curve of her hips. Then, his hands took firm hold of hips, purposefully grabbing her firmly enough to shift her body, moving it forward a bit. This startled a nearly doped feeling Mrs. Selton to attention, and made a sharp pang of anticipation and excitement flash through her body like a bolt of lightning. She gasped, and dropped her head forward, looking with desire at her lover as he held her steadily between his hands.
His mouth moved close to her sex, and he let her feel his hot breath on the outer folds of her moist womanhood, but he was careful not to move in any further. He needed to tease her a bit more.
"William...Oh..."
She watched him intently, seeing only the top of his head but feeling fully the tribute his hands made. His right hand released her left hip and slid down the back of her thigh. His fingertips made trails teasingly down the skin, coming to rest on the sensitive skin on the back of her knee. He moved his fingertips in small circles, feathery light, feeling Charlotte respond with a tremble and a gasp. The officer smiled, then lifted her leg, bending that knee, where he kissed the back of it, again making the lady sigh. Tavington guided her leg higher, and put it over his right shoulder, resting her left leg there.
The colonel placed his right hand back on her left hip, gripping it firmly. Again he let his breath escape on the top and outermost part of her femininity. William wanted her to beg him for it.
As he had calculated, he had set his lover on fire and she was smoldering inside. She groaned, as she looked down at him. "God...William...PLEASE!"
With that, she watched him as he dipped his head and went to his pleasurable task. And she groaned again, this time in relief that he was getting down to business, as she saw his face disappear into the wetness of her intimacy.
And then she felt it. She felt the tip of his tongue, lightly touching her nether lips. The man outlined her labia gently, using long, wet strokes. He was rewarded with a passionate moan. Then, he made his tongue stiff, the sides of it curling upwards, and it became as if an arrow, and he trailed the tip of it downwards from the top folds of her womanhood, through the satin wetness of the bunches of skin there, effectively parting it, ending at her entrance.
Charlotte shivered at this, glad she had the wall to brace herself against. "Mmmmm," she murmured as she let her head rest back against the wall and closed her eyes.
Once inside her velvety, now spread lips, he dragged the flat of his tongue slowly against her swollen clitoris, pressing hard into it. Then he repeated that action, and the slowness of it— the calculating, manipulative, slow patience— made Charlotte feel as if her head were going to explode. She released the deep, calming breath that her lover had caused her to hold so steadily within her gut.
William could tell that he was unhinging the attractive widow. He changed tactics and began to lap quickly at the hardened nub, lapping as if a thirsty mutt drinking water. Tavington felt her body jerk and spasm with shock each time his tongue touched her womanly pearl.
Still standing on one leg, Charlotte was sure that her knee would give way, but the colonel's strong hands gripping her hips, nearly to the point of bruising them, held her firmly in place. She tightened her right leg which still rested over his left shoulder, pushing his torso firmly against her legs, and making sure she kept his mouth deeply buried in her sex. The woman moved her leg slightly, her heel massaging the officer's back, but that was a poor return for the sheer oral pleasure he was giving her at the moment. She resolved to make it up to the man later.
Lost to her lover's ministrations and panting hard, Mrs. Selton's right hand pushed the fair portion it held of her skirt into her left fist. Her right hand now free of her skirt, she raised her right arm to her forehead, resting it there as if she had given up, or if she was going to faint—she didn't know which. Even in the cool March night air, her face broke out in perspiration as her head lay against the wall, eyes closed, in some dreamy state as she enjoyed the attention of her redcoat lover.
Somehow, she found the strength to lift her head and look down at William as he pleasured her. Charlotte moved her right hand downwards, her fingers finding his head. She caressed his hair, smoothing it back as he licked untiringly between her feminine folds. Her own fingers delved with curiosity into her quim, always excited to feel his tongue moving as it swirled around her core. And there, laying her index finger next to that fleshy knot of nerves is where his tongue licked her finger tip teasingly as it circled.
She groaned and pulled her hand away, resting it on over her chest as it heaved up and down with her erratic breath. "Oh, William! You're a Roman God!" The words spilled out quickly and raggedly.
William, spurred on by the compliment, increased his pace from slow lazy circles, to tonguing her upwards again, flicking against the tiny, stiff knot of nerves. He kept on with that motion steadily for another moment, building the woman up, knowing she could not take much more.
Charlotte's clit was now so sensitive that she had to have release soon. "Oh, yes, William, yes!" she coaxed him on in her best whisper, wanting him to hurry her to an orgasm, yet wanting the buildup to last forever. She knew her clitoris wouldn't last that long for it was close to being too sensitive as to enjoy the feeling. Yet the colonel was steadfast, keeping to the same rhythm constantly. This served to tease the girl into a frenzy. Her blood was on fire, coursing through her veins, priming her body for that good reward of a feeling that lingered just a moment away.
Soon, with that last full moment of steady licking and lapping and circling of William's tongue, Charlotte Selton came apart, exploding and falling over a precipice into supreme satisfaction.
"Yes! YES! William!" she murmured in satiation as her body shook and rippled. Feeling the urge to scream as the feeling peaked, she threw her right arm over her mouth, muffling her grateful moans.
A pleased William Tavington smiled and chuckled low, full of himself and feeling particularly manly at having sated the lusty widow. The colonel wiped his face discreetly on one of her petticoats. He got back to his feet, now standing over the Carolina beauty, finding her eyes dazed and her cheeks flushed.
She parted her lips, an intoxicated smile on them, and slid her arms around Tavington's neck. Charlotte pulled his body to hers, with him slipping his arms around her waist. Their lips met in a soft kiss that soon deepened. Their tongues twisted and twirled slowly, a relaxed kiss that could last all evening. She tasted the tang of her own womanly saltiness still in his mouth.
Soon, Mrs. Selton's arms left William's shoulders, her hands slinking down over his jacket, finding his placket, the top buttons still undone from moments earlier. The lady finished the job quickly, undoing the rest of the buttons then nudging his breeches down his hips, freeing his thick column of flesh, still rock hard and aching for her. She palmed his erection again, which twitched under her touch.
William's hands reached down and under the woman's skirts, still rumpled and stiff, crushed against her thighs. He first palmed both smooth, half moons of her rear, appreciating it for a moment, then slid his hands down to where her ass met her thighs. With superior strength, he lifted her, bracing her body against the brick.
The woman's lips left his as she put her arms about his shoulder and lifted her legs. She bent her knees then wrapped her legs about the colonel's torso, where she crossed her ankles behind his back. Her legs squeezed his body, holding it tightly between them as he lifted her a bit more.
Charlotte gasped as she felt the tip of his member nudging at her entrance. He pressed his hardness into her velvety depths, nice and slow, nestling himself in when he reached the back of her. William rested there a moment, not moving. The couple held each other tightly, both panting as if it was such a relief to have his cock buried to the hilt in her wetness.
Resting another moment, relishing the feeling, his head dropped and he breathed against her neck. "Jesus, Charlotte!"
Mrs. Selton kissed his neck and then put her lips to his ear. She whispered, "Fuck me hard, William."
"Certainly," he murmured against her skin. With that, he reared back, pulling his rock hard manhood to within an inch of coming free of her, then he launched forward, as if letting something loose from a catapult, impaling her with a deep and savage stab that stole her breath away.
"Oomph," she grunted as she tightened her arms about his strong shoulders.
"Oh yes! Please! Like that!" she coaxed. "Hard!"
He snapped his hips hard against her bottom again. "Yes!" he responded. "So hard!"
His pelvis bucked against hers, which undulated in time to the rhythm he set. The officer hammered and drilled his firmness deep into her, battering her moist, pink tissue to the point of knowing she would be sore in the morning.
After moments of the brutal cadence, Tavington's legs were starting to burn from the combined efforts of holding the woman up and thrusting deeply. But even with that, the carnal pleasure building at the base of his prick and deep in his pelvis outweighted the protesting of his muscular limbs.
"Oh, Christ!" he hissed. "I'm so close!"
At the same time, Charlotte felt a quick curl of tingling that overtook her out of the blue. It was as if his words unleashed the feeling.
"Yes! William!" she purred. "Yes!"
Feeling her body go rigid and her breathing become ragged, he coaxed her on. "That's it, my dear. Come Charlotte! Come now!"
The dam burst inside her and another powerful orgasm enveloped her being. "Oh God, William!" she gasped, "It's so good!"
Tavington felt the tissue in her vagina contracting strongly, rhythmically about his cock, bringing him to immediate completion.
"Christ!...mmmmm….ah!" he swore as his orgasm unfurled through his body. He spasmed hard and shot his hot stream deep into her cave. Her moist insides continued to ripple around his penis, prolonging his pleasure.
"That's it, Charlotte," he groaned. "Milk it! Squeeze it dry!"
After another moment, when all the muscles and tissues had stopped rioting within their bodies, they caught their breath and shared a light kiss. The woman unwound her legs from her redcoat colonel. He held her securely until she had good footing.
"I told you that we wouldn't get caught," he smirked quietly as he released his hold on her.
"You still intend to have me in your bed later?" she asked coyly as she pushed her skirts down.
"Yes," answered Colonel Tavington as he tugged his trouser up and fastened them back. Charlotte smoothed her hair and took his arm.
"We should head back," she said. "I could use some punch…or champagne."
/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/
It was sometime after Midnight when the last guests finally left. Captain Bordon bid goodnight to his subalterns, and hesitated for a moment before he started the walk back to his room, knowing full well he might stumble or pass out on the way into the house. The officer was good and drunk, and had managed to not look too much so during the last part of the evening, when he had switched up from socially drinking to throwing the spirits back quickly for the purpose of getting soused.
The officer stood still, trying to corral the drunkenness enough to leave. As he did, he occupied himself by staring bleary eyed about the now sparsely populated ballroom. He saw the servants cleaning up. He watched as Mrs. Selton left, trying to look discreet as if going to her own room, but fooling no one. He saw his superior bid goodnight then leave shortly after the pretty widow with the intent of spiriting her away to his quarters.
Then his eyes fell on Miss Burwell, now without her friends, the Days, who had left moments ago. The girl was still a vision of loveliness as she spoke with Mrs. Leyanova. It was then that the officer chose to leave, while the young hostess was giving final instructions to the head of the house staff.
He walked slowly past the servants and the girl, and nodded as he told them goodnight. Once outside, the cold air hit him, making him bristle for his skin was cool but his inside flowed with the warmth of alcohol. The captain hoped that the brisk night air would not sober him up as he was enjoying the high feeling of being drunk, even though he knew he would pay for it in the morning.
The officer paused just outside the house, planting himself against the wall. Hugh Bordon rested there, his head spinning. He could not walk a step further until the sensation stopped. The British captain stayed still and quiet, resting at the wall, until he could feel sure enough to walk the rest of the way to his quarters.
In the ballroom, Betsy Burwell looked over the room, now in disarray after a successful party, and sighed. She bid good evening to the servants, knowing that with a couple of hours, they would have the room back to normal. And within a few more hours, they would be serving a normal breakfast on another normal morning within the room.
Betsy headed across the breezeway, stopping when she noticed one of the lanterns still burning on the grass. The young lady stepped down, making her way the few feet to the lantern, which she quickly extinguished.
On her way to the back door, her arm was grabbed, stopping her in her tracks. Startled by the action, she gasped. The grasp was strangely familiar to her, and the strong hand turned loose of her arm just as quickly.
She had been pulled into a shadow that fell neatly onto the back part of the main house. Her eyes, already adjusted to the dark that had enveloped the green between the buildings, recognized quickly the stocky figure of Captain Bordon. Betsy was relieved to see that it was him there and not some unknown assailant manhandling her person.
The officer then addressed her, his familiar, deep voice slurring his way through the words. "And where are you off to, Miss Burwell?"