Page 10 of Mounted By Her Officers

She hadn’t been loud before, but now the urge was nearly irresistible.

He picked up his strokes, rutting harder and forcing her to brace. “I wonder how many women they discover in stalls, ravished by a man who wants a warm hole.”

“Don’t,” she begged, her cunny growing wetter at the danger posed by their tryst in the hay.

“You love attention, Lydia. Those men looking at you while I drive deep would admire you for the woman you are. A harlot. A biddable girl who loves officers. Seeing as they’re not your officers, they’d have to content themselves with watching. Why, you might swell our ranks single-handedly in peacetime.”

Lydia came to an elbow and brought her hand back to the place her quim was swollen and dripping. She gave a quick rub, then pulled her hand away as it made her clench on Denny’s cock.

“That’s it, keep rubbing it,” said Denny. “Milk my cock, darling milkmaid. Strip my piece from root to tip and I’ll make your bubbies swell. Perhaps we’ll let the ostlers have a taste.”

Her moan escaped before she could contain it. Her men would not share her, but her breasts were heavy and sore at the mention of it, nipples begging to be sucked. A vision materialized: breasts fondled and stroked, then sucked lavishly by all three officers. And below, a swollen belly, thick with their child.

“Oh, Lydia, they’re going to see you taking me like a sow, a mare. Letting me mount you like a beast and breed you no matter that they’re watching.”

She looked around, terrified that the stablemen were upon them. Denny put a hand to her neck and directed her head.

“You’re a receptacle. Stay down and let me breed this hole. I’ll worry about those men. You think about me and what I’m doing to you.”

Her knees shifted further apart and strained to feel more against her cunny. Between her thighs, her entrance beckoned, and she slid two fingers inside the slick channel.

“Where’d you leave the rope, Tom?” a voice rang out from nearer than Lydia had expected.

Inside, Denny’s cock shuttled in and out, all the while compressing the fingers in her cunt. It pressed them into places that needed the sensation, dragging her closer to a dangerous ledge.

“Shall I do it? Seed you?” murmured Denny into her ear. He’d pulled her to his chest and thrust until she was pinioned on his cock. “Maybe you want me to call that one over so he might watch how a real animal breeds the female of the sex.”

His slides were easy as she’d opened on him and relaxed to take him deep.

“In and out, that’s it,” coaxed Denny, talking her through her own stimulation. “And a thumb right on your nub, like I showed you.”

The barest of touches had her whimpering. It was too much, far too much stuffed in one small space, and she contracted around it all, leaving the stables and the very earth for a moment, and then again. Denny’s strokes came harder, then jerkier, and he stilled and held himself deep as he finished inside.

“What’s that?” called the man searching for rope.

She turned to look at Denny with wide eyes, and he nodded. Pulling from Lydia gently, he set her skirts to rights, then saw to stowing his cock.

“Yo-ho?” said a familiar voice.

Lydia and Denny looked at one another across the straw.

“Yes, the lot of you,” Auntie Mildred trilled from the yard to distract the ostlers. “Take these bags to the furthest room. That’s it. Every one of you.”

Chapter 5

The Downs Inn, Nutley

Lydia was directing the ostlers to her new trunk — there was a great deal of Brighton inside it, and she meant to admire each stitch — when she walked directly into her mother.

Her mother.

“Mama…”

Mrs. Bennet took in the sight before her: Lydia flouncing up the walk to yet another inn, accompanied by two of her favorites from the regiment along with a curiously familiar-looking woman.

“Is that my old hat?” she asked, coming closer to Auntie Mildred. “And why does that dress look like my old mourning bombazine? Did Hill give that to you?”

Lydia needed to get her mother alone and away from the prying eyes of the inn’s public rooms. “Perhaps we might take our refreshment in a private parlor?”