Shared By the Pirates – Emily Tilton

Lady Evangeline Stratford, eldest daughter of the second Earl of Hobberly, decided in the spring of the Year of Our Lord 1745 to sail to America in order that she not be forced to marry against her wishes. Aged nineteen and possessed only of the clothes upon her back and the loyalty of her ladies’ maid Mary Smith, Lady Evangeline fled Hobberly Hall by night, walking in the spring mud across the park to the Hobberly Arms in Rereton, where Mary took seats inside the mail coach while Lady Evangeline, well muffled in a thick cloak that hardly kept off the chill, waited in an unceasing state of near-panic at a corner table, her burning face to the wall. “You are sure of your cousin?” the heir apparent to one of Hampshire’s richest fiefs asked her servant in a whisper, when Mary returned from her dialogue with the innkeeper. “He will be true?” Mary Smith’s cousin Philip Norris served as first mate aboard a merchantman bound for Virginia. The success of Lady Evangeline’s flight depended upon his promise to pass her off as his bride. “He will,” Mary whispered back. “He would, I believe, even if you had not promised him a farthing, my lady.” All through the exhausting journey from Rereton to Portsmouth, Lady Evangeline tried to convince herself that she could have done nothing else but to fly from home, mad though the idea seemed to her upon the road, with the terrible jolting of the carriage wheels making each moment an agony of weariness and self-doubt. Her father had demanded she marry Mr. Worthington, the man who it seemed had bought a great deal of the earl’s vast debt. It was entirely apparent that Mr. Worthington, aged sixty-two, had speculated not just in Hobberly debt but in the Hobberly heir herself when he had gone about acquiring the notes put out by Lady Evangeline’s dissolute father in the course of his debaucheries in town. She had heard that the last few notes had gone for more than their face value, the owners having heard that Mr. Worthington had something on in the way of acquiring a pretty wife and a petty earldom in the debt market, and she supposed she should feel complimented in some measure. Hobberly Hall would require a massive investment of capital to reach anything like a state acceptable to receive visitors on the scale a man like Mr.

Worthington must have in view, and so Lady Evangeline must seem to him an object worth having for her own sake. Still, even with the honor thus done her by Mr. Worthington’s golden guineas, Mr. Worthington’s person offended her so greatly not only by reason of his age but also because of his reprehensible manners that Lady Evangeline could see, even in the jolting carriage with the uncertain prospect of a sea voyage in disguise as a commoner to contemplate, no alternative to the step she had taken. One of her two sisters could perhaps be married to Mr. Worthington, should they place a lesser price upon their honor than Evangeline did. She would take her chance in Virginia. Safely in bed together in the Portsmouth inn Mary’s cousin had told them to seek out, Lady Evangeline and Mary spoke of what they would do upon the morrow. Mary would go to the docks and find Philip’s ship, then return when she knew exactly where it lay, to bring her mistress thither. “Mary?” asked Lady Evangeline after they had settled the matter.

“Yes, my lady?” the servant replied in a sleepy voice. “My… you know… is…” Evangeline felt her face get very hot, as it always did when she broached such matters to her faithful maid. Her cheeks, though, did not seem to burn anything like as warmly as the part of her Mary had taught her mistress to call her cunny. “Your cunny, my lady?” Mary whispered, suddenly alert. “Is it warm from riding in the coach all that while?” Evangeline nodded, biting her lower lip. “Well, pull up your chemise, then, and let me feel it, to make certain you are as healthy as you should be.” Feeling both grateful and ashamed, Evangeline obeyed her servant. Since the noble girl’s eighteenth birthday, her ladies’ maid, a little older than her mistress, had often inspected the tender cleft, with its sparse nest of curls. She usually carried out these examinations with her hand, but sometimes, as Evangeline blushed furiously, Mary laid her mistress upon her back with the bedclothes thrown off, and held a candle so as to see the progress of the womanly changes time had wrought in that sensitive spot. Now, as Mary touched the place gently, Evangeline asked her maid in the thick dreamy voice that always seemed to come upon her at these moments, “Tell me again about fucking, Mary, if you please.

” “Oh, my lady,” Mary said, “you know how shameful it is.” “Please?” Evangeline pleaded. “You know it helps… make me healthy.” Somehow hearing about what had befallen Mary with John the footman seemed to make her maid’s inspections both more urgent and, finally, more soothing. “I shall touch you, too, as I must, mustn’t I?” she asked. “So I can feel how John opened your cunny with his hard thing?” “Very well, my lady,” Mary said reluctantly, “but you know I am not sure I did right to tell you about it.” Mary rolled her shift up a little, so that Evangeline’s trembling hand could ‘inspect’ her maid’s cunny. It felt so strange and complicated, between Mary’s thighs, and the folds seemed to grow so warm to her touch, that Evangeline could not help sighing even more deeply than she would at Mary’s touch alone. Evangeline, her heart beating fast, pressed her middle finger where she had explored only once before, when Mary had confessed that she had been fucked by John’s hard thing. “Prick,” Evangeline whispered now, feeling terribly wicked but not knowing how to stop herself.

“Prick. Cunny. Naughty Mary had a prick in her cunny. Naughty Mary had a prick in her bottom.” “Oh, my lady,” Mary said. “Oh, please. I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it. Please don’t make me tell you about it again.” Evangeline’s fingers had grown very slick, now, and she could push two of them in, where little Mary now moved her hips in a rhythm that made her mistress feel faint. Evangeline tried to imitate that movement with her own hips, against Mary’s fingers, and found it came so naturally that it made her feel very wicked.

“You must tell me,” she whispered, her voice sounding strange and dreamlike to her own ears, “or I shall have to whip you, Mary. Tell me what John did with his big prick.” “He…” Mary breathed, riding her mistress’ hand. “He told me to lie down on the bed, and to raise my shift, and I did, even though it made me blush. He took his breeches down, and he raised his shirt, and he stood over me… and he… he showed me… oh, my lady.” “What did he make you do, then?” Evangeline asked hoarsely, her breath coming in harsh pants as she moved her bottom in little jerks under the maid’s touch. She did not know why, but even though Mary always said that she had wanted to do the things she had done with the footman, it made the fire between her thighs grow hotter to think that John had required them of her. “He told me I must get him ready to fuck my cunny, and he put his hand upon it, and…” “What did you do, you naughty girl?” She was naughty, too, so very naughty, to touch the cunny John the footman had fucked, to put her fingers inside it and feel how the prick had made its way through little Mary’s maidenhead. “I could not help it, my lady!” Mary protested. “It felt so good, and I knew somehow that if I… if I sucked it, John would feel the same sort of feeling.

I opened my mouth, and he put his thing inside. It was so big and hard that I did not think I could bear it.” Evangeline’s cheeks burned as she saw the lewd scene in her mind’s eye. “What did it taste like?” she whispered. “It tasted… dark, somehow… wicked… oh, my lady, just there… rub harder… oh… I am spending… I am…” But Evangeline, sensing the power she had over her little maid, pulled her hand back. “What did he do then, Mary?” she asked coyly. “No, do not take your own hand away, naughty girl. I am the mistress. Tell me your story well and you shall spend.” The same thing in her heart, or, truly, down between her thighs, that had made Evangeline wish to deny Mary the acme of her pleasure, stirred the thought in the noble girl now that someone—not Mary, but someone—should do the same to Evangeline herself, because she had made bold to play the cruel mistress.

Someone—John the footman? surely not!—should teach the haughty girl a lesson… should lay her upon a bed as Mary had been lain… should make her take his prick into her mouth… Mary’s fingers rubbed, and her voice said, while Evangeline closed her eyes so that she could see in her imagination what had happened upon the maid’s bed when the footman had decided to fuck her, “John got over me, and pushed my knees back ever so far, and looked down at my cunny. It made me blush so hot, to think that he could see that part of me, and that he liked to see it.” Evangeline heard a whimper come from her own throat, and she put her hand back between Mary’s thighs to reward her for telling such a shameful story. “Then he took his prick in his hand, and he rubbed it up and down, almost as if he were polishing it, and it seemed to get bigger and harder while he played with my cunny.” “Then he fucked you?” Evangeline breathed in a moaning voice, extending the shameful word to great length, as she put two fingers inside Mary. “Where I have my fingers? Oh, Mary, put your fingers in me, please. I want to know what it feels like.” “Hush, my lady,” Mary said, suddenly seeming to take the power back to herself. “You must be a maid upon your wedding night, when your husband fucks you for the first time. I would take your maidenhead if I put my fingers in too far—and it hurt a great deal, at first, when John put his prick inside and began to move it in and out.

” “Did he do it for a long time?” Evangeline asked, trying to move her cunny against Mary’s hand more firmly, seeking the promised pleasure. “Not very long in my cunny, my lady, I suppose,” Mary gasped, for Evangeline’s fingers moved very rapidly now, “but he made me turn over, after he pulled his prick out, and he told me I must have it in my bottom, too.” Mary had told her this part before, but every time the maid narrated this most shameful element of her first fucking it made the need between Evangeline’s thighs grow. Would a man do that to her, someday? No—of course not. The heiress of an earldom did not allow such things. “I didn’t want to, at first,” said Mary, rubbing just where her mistress needed the pressure most—the same wrinkly place at the top where Evangeline rubbed upon Mary’s own cunny, “but part of me couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like.” “And what did he say?” Evangeline demanded in a whisper, for she knew the answer would make her spend. “He said he would have me stripped and whipped by Mrs. Farnsworth, if I did not reach back and spread my bottom open… and… and it… it was so big inside me… oh, my lady, I am spending…” Evangeline bit her lip, thinking of Mrs. Farnsworth, the housekeeper, and of the birch rod with which she punished the older maids.

She had even watched it happen to Mary, after the fact of John’s having fucked her had been discovered. Mrs. Farnsworth had asked if Lady Evangeline wished to see her maid punished for immorality, and Evangeline, her heart thudding, had said yes. Now, as she moved her hips in little pleasure-seeking jerks, she could not keep from her mind’s eye the memory of Mary’s poor little bottom, covered in red weals, quivering over the whipping stool as she learned her lesson for fucking, and Evangeline spent, and spent, and spent.

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