Page 18 of A Very Surrey SFS Christmas

With one hand braced on his shoulder, the other grasping his cock so she might hold it steady, Portia slowly lowered herself onto him.

They both moaned.

“Each time I think,” she whispered, curling her hand possessively around the back of his neck, just the way he liked, “surely this is heaven. And each time I’m proved right, of course.”

“Of course,” he replied, holding her hips as they rocked against each other, denying themselves a swift release to instead make it last and last. “I’m fairly certain I know the answer, but…you haven’t changed your mind about a child, have you, after extended close proximity to babies? Ow! No need for cuffs to the ear.”

Portia smiled angelically, and clamped the inner walls of her cunt around his cock as further punishment. “I enjoy cuddling Jessica and David, and tickling their little toes. I also enjoy handing them straight back afterward.”

“I understand,” he gasped, both relieved and on the verge of losing his wits to pleasure.

Unable to bear the luscious teasing a moment more, he began thrusting harder, deeper, intent on her orgasm before he found his own release. Portia arched, her fingers working her clitoris, and seconds later she cried out his name as her whole body quivered. He immediately yanked his cock from the sweet haven of her cunt and came hard on her mound, each spurt of seed tearing a low roar of ecstasy from the very depths of him.

For a while they just held each other, sticky and sated.

“Merry Christmas to me,” said Portia. “You are a marvel, my captain. I am the most fortunate of women.”

“I love you,” he said simply. “So much.”

“Then we are ready to face the most testing of challenges. Even hosting a masked ball.”

Indeed they were. For together, all things were possible.

* * *

Her fingers might swell to the size of turnips after shaking hundreds of hands in the receiving line, but the sheer excitement in the air dulled any discomfort. After a long and sometimes exceedingly difficult year, everyone was in the mood for a party.

When the last masked guest trotted happily into the ballroom crush of merchants, town clerks, soldiers, seamstresses, healers, craftsmen, nobility, and local gentry, Portia gathered her fellow Society members around her. The ladies all looked stunning in their gowns; Beatrice in ruby red, Amelia in pale blue, Madeline in silver, and Susanna in rose pink, each with a white demi mask perched atop their head. The men were equally resplendent in their jackets and trousers; Randall in all black and indeed looking every inch a pirate, Dare in dark brown and gray, Fenton in deep blue and cream, Clayton in hunter green and gray, and Faffy in his usual black jacket and gray breeches, with powdered wig.

Portia took a deep breath. “I just want to say…thank you. Beatrice and Amelia for the beautiful wreathes. Fenton for tailoring such elegant masks. Clayton for painting those urns silver, and for agreeing to act as Lord of Misrule. Dare for the display of ancient erotic poetry. Madeline and Susanna for bringing those sweet little babies to brighten our days. And Randall, for ensuring I did not lose my mind, certainly the hardest task.”

“Good show, Denham,” said Dare, clapping him on the shoulder.

“And me?” said Faffy, lifting an imperious brow.

Portia nodded solemnly. “Thank you for warning me of the kitchen mutiny. I did indeed take no prisoners.”

Her father-in-law thumped his cane. “Wouldn’t expect anything less, gel.”

She nearly fell over. Surely that hadn’t been a compliment from the almighty Duke of Fairfield?

“Anyway,” Portia continued, scrambling for words, “I hope you’ll forgive me for the current state of your hand; but I felt it important for all of us to welcome guests. You are…my dearest friends. My family. Each and every one of you is so very important to me. I never thought for a moment when I began the Surrey Sexual Freedom Society, that it would bring me such joy. And new members! I’m so proud you followed your hearts and found true love. That is what I wished for you all.”

Clayton winked at her. “So busy wishing for us, it took you forever to see what was right under your nose.”

Randall grunted. “Good campaigns take time, Irving. Told you that.”

Her cheeks warmed. It had indeed taken time, and they’d had many obstacles in their path thanks to her vile half-brother, but all the risks had been worth it. The risks they’d all taken had been worth it. Beatrice the lady’s maid loving Amelia the countess. Madeline the Wicked Widow choosing Dare, the virgin scholar. Clayton the erotic artist defying his family and living with Fenton and Susanna, the wealthy merchant baron and baroness. Back in the day, even Fairfield had followed his heart with his precious Joanna. All had shown the courage to love and be loved in return. To open their hearts to happiness no matter what society or the church or their families declared to be proper.

Botheration.

If she kept up with such thoughts, she would give herself puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks. Swiftly, Portia turned and waylaid a passing footman carrying a tray of wine. When each Society member had a glass, she raised hers in a toast.

“To the Surrey Sexual Freedom Society, the finest men and women England has to offer. Together we have achieved great things; may we always care, may we always be there for each other, and may we have love until the end of our days.”

“Hear, hear!” said Madeline.

“To the Surrey Sexual Freedom Society,” said Randall, raising his glass. “And chairwoman Lady Portia Denham. Pistol Portia to her foes, champion of the people, and empress of Guildford, long may she reign.”