UnHolyPimpHand
Not LitShark
- Joined
- Jul 12, 2010
- Posts
- 539
“Uhnh! Yes!” Dr. Winchester groaned in concert with Nora’s enthusiastic moans, “you want it harder, do you? I’ll give you harder.”
Ordinarily, Winchester despised getting what he considered to be notes on his performance from his sexual partners—'harder,’ she moaned, which he often took as a personal insult—to imply that he was not going hard enough, an insult which almost always earned a stern and even in some cases fatal rebuke from the doctor. But as his teeth slowly raked across the tender, pale flesh of Nora’s craning neck, he couldn’t quite bring himself to harm her, not in the way he had done to Violet when she bade him to slow down.
Instead, Winchester pushed himself up from the bed, arching away from the clinging of her nails as they dragged across his back—something else the doctor ordinarily detested, one whore marking him to expose him to the next—but somehow, he was enjoying it. As his back arched into a violent, yet well-received thrust with his full weight crashing down on the slender girl, the bed frame struck mightily against the wall. Then again! Then again! And again, and again, and again, providing a steady baseline to the symphonic amalgamation of their mutual moans and shouts of pleasure.
The sound of his body colliding with hers over-and-over added a higher-pitched percussion, just above the bass of the bed battering the wall. Like a sweat soaked timpani drum. He moaned in tenor while she cried out encouragements in soprano. Altogether, the music they made was quite delightful, and doubtless quite audible, even in the Grand Foyer downstairs—which only added to Winchester’s excitement, that his rough fucking of the nubile Nora might be vexing his rival at this very moment, causing him to increase the tempo.
Winchester wanted her to cum. He could tell that she was growing closer, and almost instinctively closed his powerful, dexterous fingers around her slender throat, not quite choking her, but not shy about the pressure he was applying to her windpipe.
Violet had often worn the tell-tale bruises around her neck, when she displeased him or disappointed him. Sometimes he’d choke her just to shut her up—but this was somehow different. Though he was halting her breath and reddening her pale face, he was almost affectionate in how (and how hard) he was choking her.
“Go on,” Winchester grunted, the sinews in his muscular shoulders creasing themselves as he leaned in, applying more pressure as his hips landed home again and again, hilting himself inside her, “give it to me. Go on!”
For a moment, all sound from Nora ceased as he bore down, applying more pressure from both ends of her arched body—but just as it felt that she might toss herself into pieces from the mounting pleasure, all at once—
He released her.
*-*-*
Caldwell sighed heavily with his hand against the door as the last of his guests exited through the door. There were still a handful of stragglers, most otherwise occupied within the girls’ bedrooms. Lizzie’s husband was passed out in the parlor, his overindulgence with opium and alcohol together making him unable to stay conscious. Below him was the stable hand, who’d been too afraid to refuse the Lord’s advances and now was too afraid to slip away.
There was still concern over Nora, who he felt was ill prepared to deal with the ignominious Dr. Winchester in any capacity, but perhaps he was being overly protective of her—a hard thought to accept, given how the evening had transpired.
He turned back to the room Adelia was already at work, restoring his reputation and putting newly hatched plots in motion without the weary dissatisfaction that seemed to be consuming the author from the inside out.
His eyes met with Rose, the maid who had been invited to be an eager third in Caldwell and Adelia’s sexual exploits for the evening, but now he had doubts as to whether he could even summon the will to give the peeping maid what she rightly deserved.
Caldwell wrapped his arm around the small of Adelia’s back, pulling her close and laying his forehead on her shoulder.
“I’ve been a fool,” Caldwell whispered, his breath trickling across her collarbone.
“WHO?” the question came down from on high, as if to mock him.
Caldwell looked up suddenly, his eyes suddenly alert and filled with a mad rage that imitated the blue center of an open flame.
“WHO?” the owl asked again from its perch atop the chandelier, clear of the open flames but still likely bathed in warmth from below, it cocked its head to one side, looking down, “WHO?”
“Another mess to deal with…” Caldwell sighed again, as prone to melancholy as any great artist of his time, “but at least Nora seems to be enjoying herself. If not for her, I might think that the owl up there was having a better night than any of the rest of us.”
“WHO?”
“Yes, you! Dumb animal.”
By way of retort, the owl promptly shat through the hanging tiers of candles down onto the exquisitely polished floor.
Caldwell looked Adelia in the eye, a light smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“I am mocked by a winged beast. Mocked and bested,” it was almost a chuckle if it had not been so clearly another sigh, “let us retire for the night before more beasts and bugs come to mock my naivete.”
Caldwell encircled Adelia in his arm, his hand on her hip, inside of the upscale approximation of a toga. He reached out to Rose, offering her his other hand, though not nearly so much of himself.
“I’m afraid that the mood has turned quite dramatically, my dear Rose. I am afraid that our prior arrangements may require a bit more patience, as I feel weary and defeated down to the marrow of my bones. If you’ll stay the night, perhaps the sun will rise on a rejuvenated soul and renewed enthusiasm. But for now, I’ll understand if you wish to return to your home for what remains of the evening.”
As Caldwell and Adelia ascended the stairs moving toward the Master Suite, it became more and more apparent how loud Winchester was getting with Nora. Given how things had gone with Arthur—a much less imposing figure to be sure, Caldwell couldn’t help but spare some concern for the thoughtful, well-read, redhead’s well-being.
He differed to Adelia, as he often did in times of uncertainty.
“I wonder if I ought to check on her… It’s tough to tell from the sound if he’s pleasing her or killing her.”
*-*-*
“Dear—sweet—Lord—YES!” Lizzie wailed as she pushed down on Evie’s head, raising her hips up at the same time, her back arching above the bed, riding the crest of yet another climax from the enthusiastic ministrations of her new favorite friend.
Or perhaps, their relationship could be more like that of a mentor and disciple. She was delighted that Dawkins’ House was in no danger of becoming dull in her absence. Her cries descended into unintelligible, shuddering moans as she rode down from the high of her climax, using Evie’s face as a saddle, gripping her long, blonde hair like reigns.
For his part, Father Martin was pushing past his own limitations—not being as fit and nimble as either of his partners. The priest was pouring with sweat like a condemned man awaiting the axe, dripping it down onto Evie’s back with each strained thrust. He was half-past exhausted but felt duty bound to give everything he had to the task of thoroughly fucking Evie’s climaxing pussy.
Lizzie was still tossing her head from side to side, craning her neck back, digging her head into the loosely packed mattress of feathers that had long since become matted and flat. This bed had been hers once, the site of many grand sexual escapades of her youth—she was pleased to see it being passed on to a worthy successor.
It was just as Father Martin began panting loudly and making a face like he’d stuck his nose to close to vinegar that Alice’s shy knock came from the door. There came a moment of dread that passed through Lizzie, suspecting that it might be her whisp-of-a-husband—but was quickly relieved to hear a feminine voice coming from behind the door.
“Ohhhhhhhh!” Lizzie cried out, a low moan from deep in her chest as the girl’s voice, unfamiliar to her, seemed to spur the young thing between her thighs to eating her pussy with renewed vigor, “oh yes! Yes! Uhn!”
Her hips jerked upward sharply, just as Father Martin all but collapsed on Evie, emptying the last, strained drops of cum from his balls into her. He’d finished inside yet again and was now spreading himself out across her lithe back.
“Begone, prude!” Lizzie cried out, discerning all she needed to know about the relationship between these girls by the mischievous glee that Evie was getting from ignoring the other girl’s concern. Lizzie grabbed the now empty bottle from the nightstand and chucked it at the door, landing with a hard thud and dramatic shatter, “the priest will hear your confessions when we’re done.”
Lizzie flopped back onto the mattress, spreading wide to allow Evie to finish her demonstration to whoever was on the other side of that door. Strange bedfellows these two girls would surely make. She was excited to see how this situation would unfold.
She hoped, at least, the priest would be gallant enough to bring the girls’ shoes to them before he fucked off to do whatever priests did when they weren’t praying or whoring.
“Or better yet, come in. Perhaps you may be of service after all.” Lizzie smirked, caressing the side of Evie’s face to let her know that she was finished.
The door was locked, but this girl doubtless had a key.
Ordinarily, Winchester despised getting what he considered to be notes on his performance from his sexual partners—'harder,’ she moaned, which he often took as a personal insult—to imply that he was not going hard enough, an insult which almost always earned a stern and even in some cases fatal rebuke from the doctor. But as his teeth slowly raked across the tender, pale flesh of Nora’s craning neck, he couldn’t quite bring himself to harm her, not in the way he had done to Violet when she bade him to slow down.
Instead, Winchester pushed himself up from the bed, arching away from the clinging of her nails as they dragged across his back—something else the doctor ordinarily detested, one whore marking him to expose him to the next—but somehow, he was enjoying it. As his back arched into a violent, yet well-received thrust with his full weight crashing down on the slender girl, the bed frame struck mightily against the wall. Then again! Then again! And again, and again, and again, providing a steady baseline to the symphonic amalgamation of their mutual moans and shouts of pleasure.
The sound of his body colliding with hers over-and-over added a higher-pitched percussion, just above the bass of the bed battering the wall. Like a sweat soaked timpani drum. He moaned in tenor while she cried out encouragements in soprano. Altogether, the music they made was quite delightful, and doubtless quite audible, even in the Grand Foyer downstairs—which only added to Winchester’s excitement, that his rough fucking of the nubile Nora might be vexing his rival at this very moment, causing him to increase the tempo.
Winchester wanted her to cum. He could tell that she was growing closer, and almost instinctively closed his powerful, dexterous fingers around her slender throat, not quite choking her, but not shy about the pressure he was applying to her windpipe.
Violet had often worn the tell-tale bruises around her neck, when she displeased him or disappointed him. Sometimes he’d choke her just to shut her up—but this was somehow different. Though he was halting her breath and reddening her pale face, he was almost affectionate in how (and how hard) he was choking her.
“Go on,” Winchester grunted, the sinews in his muscular shoulders creasing themselves as he leaned in, applying more pressure as his hips landed home again and again, hilting himself inside her, “give it to me. Go on!”
For a moment, all sound from Nora ceased as he bore down, applying more pressure from both ends of her arched body—but just as it felt that she might toss herself into pieces from the mounting pleasure, all at once—
He released her.
*-*-*
Caldwell sighed heavily with his hand against the door as the last of his guests exited through the door. There were still a handful of stragglers, most otherwise occupied within the girls’ bedrooms. Lizzie’s husband was passed out in the parlor, his overindulgence with opium and alcohol together making him unable to stay conscious. Below him was the stable hand, who’d been too afraid to refuse the Lord’s advances and now was too afraid to slip away.
There was still concern over Nora, who he felt was ill prepared to deal with the ignominious Dr. Winchester in any capacity, but perhaps he was being overly protective of her—a hard thought to accept, given how the evening had transpired.
He turned back to the room Adelia was already at work, restoring his reputation and putting newly hatched plots in motion without the weary dissatisfaction that seemed to be consuming the author from the inside out.
His eyes met with Rose, the maid who had been invited to be an eager third in Caldwell and Adelia’s sexual exploits for the evening, but now he had doubts as to whether he could even summon the will to give the peeping maid what she rightly deserved.
Caldwell wrapped his arm around the small of Adelia’s back, pulling her close and laying his forehead on her shoulder.
“I’ve been a fool,” Caldwell whispered, his breath trickling across her collarbone.
“WHO?” the question came down from on high, as if to mock him.
Caldwell looked up suddenly, his eyes suddenly alert and filled with a mad rage that imitated the blue center of an open flame.
“WHO?” the owl asked again from its perch atop the chandelier, clear of the open flames but still likely bathed in warmth from below, it cocked its head to one side, looking down, “WHO?”
“Another mess to deal with…” Caldwell sighed again, as prone to melancholy as any great artist of his time, “but at least Nora seems to be enjoying herself. If not for her, I might think that the owl up there was having a better night than any of the rest of us.”
“WHO?”
“Yes, you! Dumb animal.”
By way of retort, the owl promptly shat through the hanging tiers of candles down onto the exquisitely polished floor.
Caldwell looked Adelia in the eye, a light smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“I am mocked by a winged beast. Mocked and bested,” it was almost a chuckle if it had not been so clearly another sigh, “let us retire for the night before more beasts and bugs come to mock my naivete.”
Caldwell encircled Adelia in his arm, his hand on her hip, inside of the upscale approximation of a toga. He reached out to Rose, offering her his other hand, though not nearly so much of himself.
“I’m afraid that the mood has turned quite dramatically, my dear Rose. I am afraid that our prior arrangements may require a bit more patience, as I feel weary and defeated down to the marrow of my bones. If you’ll stay the night, perhaps the sun will rise on a rejuvenated soul and renewed enthusiasm. But for now, I’ll understand if you wish to return to your home for what remains of the evening.”
As Caldwell and Adelia ascended the stairs moving toward the Master Suite, it became more and more apparent how loud Winchester was getting with Nora. Given how things had gone with Arthur—a much less imposing figure to be sure, Caldwell couldn’t help but spare some concern for the thoughtful, well-read, redhead’s well-being.
He differed to Adelia, as he often did in times of uncertainty.
“I wonder if I ought to check on her… It’s tough to tell from the sound if he’s pleasing her or killing her.”
*-*-*
“Dear—sweet—Lord—YES!” Lizzie wailed as she pushed down on Evie’s head, raising her hips up at the same time, her back arching above the bed, riding the crest of yet another climax from the enthusiastic ministrations of her new favorite friend.
Or perhaps, their relationship could be more like that of a mentor and disciple. She was delighted that Dawkins’ House was in no danger of becoming dull in her absence. Her cries descended into unintelligible, shuddering moans as she rode down from the high of her climax, using Evie’s face as a saddle, gripping her long, blonde hair like reigns.
For his part, Father Martin was pushing past his own limitations—not being as fit and nimble as either of his partners. The priest was pouring with sweat like a condemned man awaiting the axe, dripping it down onto Evie’s back with each strained thrust. He was half-past exhausted but felt duty bound to give everything he had to the task of thoroughly fucking Evie’s climaxing pussy.
Lizzie was still tossing her head from side to side, craning her neck back, digging her head into the loosely packed mattress of feathers that had long since become matted and flat. This bed had been hers once, the site of many grand sexual escapades of her youth—she was pleased to see it being passed on to a worthy successor.
It was just as Father Martin began panting loudly and making a face like he’d stuck his nose to close to vinegar that Alice’s shy knock came from the door. There came a moment of dread that passed through Lizzie, suspecting that it might be her whisp-of-a-husband—but was quickly relieved to hear a feminine voice coming from behind the door.
“Ohhhhhhhh!” Lizzie cried out, a low moan from deep in her chest as the girl’s voice, unfamiliar to her, seemed to spur the young thing between her thighs to eating her pussy with renewed vigor, “oh yes! Yes! Uhn!”
Her hips jerked upward sharply, just as Father Martin all but collapsed on Evie, emptying the last, strained drops of cum from his balls into her. He’d finished inside yet again and was now spreading himself out across her lithe back.
“Begone, prude!” Lizzie cried out, discerning all she needed to know about the relationship between these girls by the mischievous glee that Evie was getting from ignoring the other girl’s concern. Lizzie grabbed the now empty bottle from the nightstand and chucked it at the door, landing with a hard thud and dramatic shatter, “the priest will hear your confessions when we’re done.”
Lizzie flopped back onto the mattress, spreading wide to allow Evie to finish her demonstration to whoever was on the other side of that door. Strange bedfellows these two girls would surely make. She was excited to see how this situation would unfold.
She hoped, at least, the priest would be gallant enough to bring the girls’ shoes to them before he fucked off to do whatever priests did when they weren’t praying or whoring.
“Or better yet, come in. Perhaps you may be of service after all.” Lizzie smirked, caressing the side of Evie’s face to let her know that she was finished.
The door was locked, but this girl doubtless had a key.
