The Essex countryside was clothed in that shimmering, multi-colored garb that nature, that most expert of seamstresses, runs up for her each spring. The weather had been foul and the winter so long that it seemed as if God himself, had deserted the island. Now, in less than two weeks, all that had changed. Great pink and white clouds of cherry, apple and pear blossoms vied with yellow forsythia and daffodils to make the country beautiful. The soft, yellow-green of new leaves lightened and blended with the darker green of rich grass. The sun shone warmly and even the breeze was not too chill. It was one of those glorious springs remembered so fondly by any Englishman long from home, yet so seldom seen in actuality.
Robert had brought his niece to spend a month at the Finch estate. Except for brief visits, they had spent very little time in the country these past five years, but he was tired and he wanted to get away from court for a while. He was beginning to wonder if perhaps he weren't too old for all the intrigue and danger inherent in his position with Walsingham, but he knew that a rest would make his forty-odd years sit lighter. He was becoming a very wealthy man through his investments in various voyages- partly legitimate trade, but partly, admittedly, privateering-and had acquired a certain influence of his own, aside from that connected with his association with Sir David Cassen. It would be soon, at this rate, that he might well realize his dream of a good, comfortable post in the warm luxury of the New World.
He was concerned about Belinda, should he leave England. He had often mentioned, of late, that she should be thinking of marriage, but she flatly refused. It would be difficult, almost impossible, for two such close relations to marry, she knew, but she pointed out that there was no reason for her not to continue with him on their present basis. She was now a lady-a beautiful and talented one — and had become most useful to him in the role of hostess. Should he settle in a position in the West Indies, would he not have just as much need of her? Robert concurred in this, but pointed out, in his turn, that he was nearly thirty years older than she, and, when he died, she would be left a spinster.
Belinda had only laughed and said that, should he predecease her, which she wasn't at all sure she would allow him to do anyway, she might be left a spinster, but she would be a very rich one. Since the queen herself, seemed to feel that spinsterhood was the best way of life, she, Belinda, would probably survive it. Very rich spinsters rarely went short of handsome lovers.
Robert had muttered that she seldom went short of handsome lovers now, and that had been the end of it. Robert had felt that he must do everything possible to assure the best future for her, but he was greatly relieved that she refused to leave him. After all these years, her absence would have left him a saddened, lonely man.
The object of his heart lay in a garden swing, enjoying the spring morning. The music of myriad birds, the heavy scent of the blossoms combined with the warm sun to drug her into a blissful, half dreaming state. The gentle rocking of the swing added to the sensation of unreality, and she lay there contented.
It was Easter Sunday, and tomorrow there were to be games on Bethnal Green. Most of the festivities there were for the common folk, but there was to be a special display of horse flesh for the gentry. Robert wasn't entering, he had been too long away from his farm, but Sir David Cassen was. Sir David had two horses, one in the race and one, trained and ridden by himself, in the competition for performing horses. The animals would jump, would count and do other tricks, and step to music like a dancer. Sir David was very proud of his big, grey gelding, Pan, and Belinda was sure he would win the meet.
Although she was eager to see the show, to join in the carnival fun of the day and dance late into the night, there was yet another reason for anticipating tomorrow. A friend of her uncle's, Captain John Fothering, would be there. In fact, he was coming from London this afternoon, so that he might go to the Green tomorrow with them.
Belinda had met Fothering briefly last summer, when he visited Robert at their home at Whitehall, but she had not seen him since. He had left shortly after his visit, for another venture, and had just returned to England.
Belinda smiled, remembering how impressed she had been with the tall, brown seafarer. He was a most exciting male. He had, that last time, shown her every courtesy, but very little else. Of course, there had been very little time for an affair, but it had been disappointing anyway. Robert had teased her about her crush on the captain, and that hadn't helped any. She loved her uncle dearly, but he could be damned annoying. He knew her too well, for one thing.
Belinda had great hopes that the holiday air and the proximity of the dance would render the swashbuckling sailor a more attentive courtier than last time. She wanted him, wanted to feel that hard, lean body heavy over her, and she meant to have him.
Belinda's daydreams were shattered by her uncle's hail. She opened her eyes and saw, scarcely ten feet away, the very man she had been dreaming about.
It was seldom that the frank, almost brazen young lady was seen to blush, but on this occasion, she could feel the color rising. Fortunately, the men thought she had been sleeping, and put her momentary confusion down to having just been awakened. “Lindy, you remember Captain Fothering, don't you?”
There was a hint of irony in Robert's question, but by now Belinda had composed herself.
“Certainly,” she answered, innocently, and rose to extend her hand to their guest.
John bent low over it, touching the back with his lips. A damned fine wench, he thought. Too bad she's Robin's niece.
He followed his host and hostess to a table that had been set with drinks. As the punch diminished, he glanced more and more often at the woman sitting opposite him. He was always susceptible, and Belinda, vivacious, charming, beautiful, was at her best.
Once he surprised a look in her eye that would have been an obvious invitation from an older or less highly placed female. With Belinda he wasn't so sure.
On the pretext of stretching his long legs, he moved his knee against hers, and left it there. For a moment she didn't move, and then he felt an answering pressure. Damn! Niece or no niece, if this was what she wanted, she would get it. Of course, it might well be nothing more than flirtation, promising everything, and delivering nothing but injured innocence and haughty words.
Robert had noticed, to his amusement, these small exchanges. He was not adverse to having Belinda bed down with his friend-she had done so with many another he thought a bloody ass; John, at least, was a man-but he knew there would be difficulties. John, like most men, would not be all that adverse to tupping the niece of his best friend, but he would certainly be adverse to being found out. To be given free permission would be quite against his sense of fitness, and it would be no better if Robert were to tell him that he, himself, made free with his ward's many charms. John would only be shocked the more so that, if she were indeed Robert's bedmate, he would hand her to a friend. Men were supposed to be jealous, and that was that.
Ah well, he should speak to his stable grooms anyway. It was a long ride to Bethnal Green, and he wanted to be sure they had good mounts. The road was much too bogged down for the coach, and at any rate the damned contrivance was too slow and too uncomfortable. He stood up.
“I must see to our plans for tomorrow. I shan't be long, John. In the meantime, my home is yours. Make yourself free of it.” He turned to Belinda. “Entertain our guest, won't you, my love? I doubt you have much in common, but perhaps you'll find some subject that will keep you from boring each other.”
Belinda caught the laughter in his voice and as she looked up he threw her the smallest wink. Smiling prettily, she stuck out her tongue at him, taking care that the captain didn't see.
“I'm sure we shall stay amused, uncle. No need to hurry back. If you're passing the kitchen, though,” she added, “you could have someone bring more punch.”
Robert laughed heartily. “Hear that, Captain? Ah, such affection! She cares more for the absence of the punch than she does for the absence of her old uncle.”
He walked away and Belinda turned back to Captain Fothering.
“I'm afraid you'll have to make do with my company. I expect Uncle was right; I shall certainly bore you.”
John protested vehemently. The sun had turned Belinda's skin a soft honey color, and her light frock was cut to reveal bare shoulders and a great rise of warm breast. She leaned forward to replenish John's glass and he felt her press that soft bosom against his arm. His fingers itched to surround the fat globe of her breast, and as he thought of the feel of her velvet skin under his toughened hand, he could feel his cock fill and stretch against his britches.
As they chatted, Belinda let her hand fall on his knee. Her fingers stroked lightly up his thigh, and the bulge in his pants grew harder, pushing painfully. The softly parted mouth, the wanting eyes, left him in no more doubt as to the welcome his attentions would receive.
“Would you like to see the farm?” Belinda asked, rising. “We can walk in the woods, now. The grounds still a little damp, but it's all right if we stay on the path.”
John stood up, pulling his jacket tight to hide his indiscretion. He wanted to take her here and now- perhaps on the same swing she had been sleeping on-not wait, as he knew he must, for a more private time and place. Damn the conventions, any-way!
He looked down at her as they walked. She was so tiny, barely reaching the middle of his broad chest. They walked into the thick park wood, and when a turn in the path hid them safely from the house, he took her in his arms.
She lifted her face, and he pressed his mouth against hers. Their lips parted and he felt her tongue dart into his mouth. Hungrily he lifted her from the ground, holding her tightly to him as he kissed her neck, her satiny throat, the beautiful lulls that rose to temptingly from the neck of her dress. Her breathing was fast and deep, and she murmured in his ear.
“'Sblood, girl, I'd like to take you right here on the wet grass.” His cock was hard and burning; a painful knot of lust writhed in his belly.
Belinda's feet swayed free, but she was held tight and she rubbed herself against him, panting. She could feel the great size of his rigid cock and longed to have it driving up her dripping cunt.
“Do! Oh, God, Captain, take me. I burn so.”
Her passion aroused him even further, and he was shaking as he set her on her feet. He grinned ruefully.
“And a fine sight we'd make, back at the house. You with your back muddied and leaves in that beautiful hair, and me with my knees as black as a hop pickers.” He shook his head. “No, it wouldn't be quite the thing, would it?”
Belinda leaned against him. “I hardly care.”
Through the material of their clothing, John's cock pressed hard into her stomach. Lifting her again, he slid one hand under her skirt, and heard her cry out in desire as his fingers found the wet V between her thighs. He played with the curled hair that covered her outer lips, then pushed his fingers deep into her soaking hole. God damn society, honour and all other hell-made curbs to a man's need! Belinda panted in his arms, twisting frantically on his fingers as he brought her to a climax. As he felt her body grow limp beneath the steel of his arm, he damned her to hell along with everything else. Why the devil had she let him get this far when there was nothing they could do about it? Se had been eased a little, perhaps, but he was in such a condition that he was afraid the straining of his aching cock would burst his pant seams.
In a fury of frustration, he set her again on her feet. There was something he could do.
“If you think you're going to send me home like this, you're as mad as a dolphin.” He put his hand on her head and pushed, unloosening his pants till the giant cock burst free, jutting out like the figure head of a ship. He had learned a bit about ladies in the past year, and he knew that under the manners and coquetry they were little different from the whores and street girls he had known. At any rate, he was not about to play the gentleman now.
Still holding her head, he pushed his pulsing nob between her parted lips.
“Suck, woman!”
Belinda ran her tongue over the swollen organ that filled her mouth, and John gasped as she began to move her head up and down, the inside of her warm mouth pulling on his jerking flesh. He looked down, watching her dark head working over him. His balls tightened, heavy with sperm, and he tensed his thighs, bracing himself against the flood of passion that pounded through him. She held the base of his shaft in her small hand, teasing what would not fit into her drawing, sucking mouth.
John felt the coil within him swirl and break and a torrent of semen rushed up his penis, flooding out his nob and down her throat.
He leaned back against a tree to keep from falling, as she kissed the still firm head, and carefully rearranged his clothing. He pulled her to her feet and kissed her long and lingeringly.
“You splendid little animal. That will hold me for the moment, but tomorrow I shall find a way to have you properly.” He pushed her away gently, watching as she straightened her dress and hair. “In the meantime, my gorgeous doxy, stay well away from me, or I'll have you on your uncle's dining table.”