A poor Captain beguiled by a maid with a fortune but no standing in society
We were returning to the house for Luncheon following the morning service at St Agnew’s Church. It was one of those rare English summer days. The sun shone, the cinder path beside the river was dry and devoid of puddles. We strolled easily along chatting amiably.
There were a round dozen in our party and we had decided to walk to church for morning service rather than have the horses and carriages as we would scarce fit in the two carriages which were all that were available and the road was nearly three times as far as the path.
The ladies were a fine sight in their Sunday best, wide brimmed hats, skirts to their ankles, blouses buttonned to the neck, sensible walking boots propriety personified.
I escorted Miss Loveridge that morn. Lord P whose guest I was arranged it so. She was an amiable enough wench. Her Pa had oodles of dosh from some Mill or Rail - way or some such, but she was not of my class.
Grand-father was a Earl for heaven’s sake, I was expected to marry at least my equal.
Miss Loveridge chatted prettily enough but my mind wandered.
“I say, are you listening to a word I have said?” she asked.
“I am so sorry, my mind wandered,” I explained as we dropped even further behind the main party.
“I said do you have a beau?” she repeated.
“No, I am afraid I do not at present, playing the field do you see,” I replied truthfully.
“So what are your preferences?” she asked, “Big bosoms, blonde hair blue eyes?”
“Ample bosoms yes but not to excess," I replied, “Hair colour, I am unconcerned, eyes, as long as she has two fully functional eyes then that will suffice I believe.”
“So what do you really want in a woman that I do not posess?” she enquired.
“Eyes which never leave me, a vaginal passage which moistens instantly at my touch,” I ventured callously.
“The touch being directly to the aforesaid vagina or should any touch suffice?” she asked.
“The touch directly to the vagina obviously should encounter moistness,” I explained, “However a touch to the hand quite possibly should not.”
“Then you need a whore sir, not a bride,” she declared.
“How dashed perceptive of you my dear Miss Loveridge,” I agreed.
She nodded “For myself I seek a manly man, a stallion, a real man, someone to sweep me off my feet whenever he feels the inclination, certainly not some perfumed ponce who ravishes chamber maids all week and serves his wife only on a Saturday eve as gentemen seem wont to do.”
“Dear lord what frankness,” I exclaimed, “I own I am quite shocked!”
“My mother grew up in a ginnel with nine sisters and no father most of the time,” Miss Loveridge explained, “She warned me about mens’ base desires how she had to fight drunken oafs off when no more than a child herself.”
“I am aware of your lowly origins,” I agreed.
“So,” she said as we halted briefly, “Do you fancy me?”
“I beg your pardon?” I gasped.
“Lord P told father you’re after me for my fortune,” she explained.
“My dear Miss Loveridge may I assure you that I have no such thoughts,” I replied.
“Not even slightly?” she asked.
“Absolutely not, I am not after anyone for their fortune,” I declared, “I want a wife to copulate with freely and joyously not some cold hearted title hunter, no mater how extensive her wealth.”
“So would you care to lay with me?” she asked, “I shall not consent to marriage unless you can guarantee a good rogering when I desire it.”
“I have had no complaints,” I replied, “Though I own the young ladies concerned were from the lower orders and well versed in delighting gentlemen.”
“Serving maids?” she enquired.
“And whores,” I explained, “I spent time in Africa in the regiment and they knew nothing of marriage there. The women ran round naked bar a skirt of grass stalks and all were wed to the chief and when his back was turned every man jack of them was fonicating with every Jill in sight.”
“I should like to be naked in the sunshine but for a grass skirt,” she admitted, “The warm sun on my bosoms for they are so cruelly constricted by my dress, shall you free them Captain?”
“Free them, damn you woman you are rousing my member,” I admitted, “I fear I shall have to rearrange my underwear if you would excuse me.”
“Show me,” she ordered.
“I most certainly will not,” I insisted as I thrust my arm down my breeches and raised my member to point upwards instead of down my trouser leg.
“Is that better?” she asked.
“Much,” I agreed.
“For I can see his moistened tip poking out like a mouse from his burrow,” she teased
I reacted in horror but all was well, he was well hidden.
“You must be imagining it,” I suggested.
“Imagining it hammering at my womb head,” she simpered, “Your strong arms around me, your lips upon mine.”
“Stop it,” I pleaded, “Any more and I shall disgrace myself!”
“Then don’t waste the moment,” she said and she raised her skirts high.
All I coud see was a wall of underskirts and her black boots up to her knees.
“Very alluring indeed,” I admitted, but then she grabbed another handful and there was the most perfect shaven peach I had ever encountered.
I had no choice, had i not released him my member would have exploded my juice all up inside my shirt so I wrested him free from confinement.
She first knelt, they lay, upon the soft grass, “Come Captain, the moment is upon us, she said.
I should have said no, but her allure was too strong. I too knelt, but with my knees between hers. I eased closer and with no preamble I pressed my member firmly at her womb lips.
They parted as easily as the stage curtains at the Alhambra and I was in. Fully sheathed in her heaven at a moments notice.
“Please forgive me,” I asked pointlessly.
“Only if I get a champion rogering,” she replied.
“May I kiss you?” I asked.
“I would rather you ripped my bodice open and fondled my teats," she replied.
“Next time I will strip you naked before we start,” I promised.
I began to pleasure her with long slow strokes of my member, all the way in, pause and withdraw until the tip was barely still within and forward again.
I heard someone coming, “Emily, where be thee,” someone shouted in a broad Lancashire accent. I stopped in mid stroke.
“I’m here father,” Miss Loveridge replied.
“Oh god, now what?” I asked and went to withdraw but she held me tightly to prevent it.
“Say “Good Day” I suppose,” she replied.
“Emily!” the voice bellowed, “I said woo the boody bloke not fuck he’s brain out.”
Her father came in sight, a broad shouldered stout thickset man in a moleskin waistcoat and heavy blue overcoat cut in a style which has never and will never be in any way of the modern style.
“Sorry father,” she said.
“Good day Mr Loveridge,” I opined as I looked up at her father.
“Bloody good day for thee, rogering me daughter,” he agreed, “Ee she could earn a bloody fortune down whore house but her mother wants a title for her see.”
“So I understand,” I agreed.
“So will thee make her an offer or shall I blow thee brains out with me pistol?” he asked as he brandished a shiny new revolving chamber pistol.
“Can I think about it?” I asked.
“I’ll count to ten,” he said, “One.”
“Might be a good idea to load a few bullets first?” I suggested.
“Oh, aye new fanged gadgets, rather have a flint lock any day,” he opined.
“Father he chose me, we are sort of married,” Miss Loveridge suggested.
“And what about t’ostler and boot boy, what are you bigamous,” he snapped.
“Trigamous even?” I ventured.
“Shut thee trap and make her cum,” the father replied, “She wails like a stuck stoat when her is excited, frightens t’orses sometimes.”
“Father!” she retorted.
“I will do my very utmost sir,” I agreed and I set to humping against her once more.
“Bloody fortune I spent on finishing school and the like an she still fucks all comers,” her father opined as he watched us fucking in the sunshine beside the path by the river. It was too much. The distraction sent a great gush of cum blasting within her and she gasped.
It was a beautiful sound, hardly anything like a stuck stoat, a sound of surprise and pleasure.
“Did thee ‘ave to suck is Dick to rouse him?” the father asked.
“No father, as soon as I raised my skirts he was upon me,” she replied.
“Ah man after me own mind,” he agreed.
“Whats it to be then lad, wed or shot through t’ead?” he demanded.
“I should like a longer trial I think,” I replied.
“Bloody cheek,” the father said as he put his gun away, “No bloody good forcing thee, take thee bloody time, you got till dinner.”
We watched him stride away into the distance.
“How do I compare?” I asked, “With the ostler and boot boy?”
“Poorly, to be honest,” she replied.
“Then marry the boot boy!” I suggested.
“I cannot, for my fortune would pass to him on marriage and he might cast me aside to be destitute.” she explained.
“While I?” I queried.
“You are a gentleman.” she declared.
“There is more to marriage than fucking beside a brook on a sunny afternoon.” I explained.
“Perhaps we could try against a tree, or you could bend me over a wall and take me from behind like Terry the Ostler does?” she suggested.
“Or like the boot boy?” I ventured.
“Yes, in the Linen cupboard!” she replied excitedly.
“Are you obsessed with fucking?” I queried.
“Perhaps,” she answered.
“Then why not become a whore,” I suggested, “Then you will need no fortune as men will queue for hours to fuck you!”
“Oh captain you say the sweetest things, I am going enjoy being married to you, shall we try it against that Oak tree?” she suggested, “Shall I suck your member until it is hard like the maids do with father?”
I shook my head “If you do I’ll like as not expell in your throat, I am already hard as iron from this talk, but leaning against the oak tree sounds like an excellent alternative.”
“One more thing Captain,” she said, “Serving wenches, treat them kindly, for ,”
But I held her firmly and silenced her with a kiss as I laid her gently agains the oak tree and.
“Ow its digging in me ass,” she complained, “hang on a minute.”