The Virtuous Wifes Tale Ch 01

Chapter One

Isabella Langmead searched for something, for anything, to distract her from what lay ahead, the prospect of a loveless marriage and leaving her beloved Devon home. Her head ached with thoughts of her betrothal to a man she detested. Simon DeVillier was the man she had been contracted to against her will.

It was Luke, the uncomplicated stable hand, with more brawn than polite conversation, who brought distraction from what lay ahead.

'Why can't they...' Isabella gasped as she was released from her constricting riding habit. It's not as if my parents have ever cared a fig about my marriage prospects before and....' Luke's hands, expertly engaged undoing buttons and corsetry, was certainly distracting. Isabella began to feel the stone sitting below her heart, heavy with foreboding, temporarily lighten

'Hush woman,' Luke hissed. 'You'll scare the horses with your prattle.'

'Show some respect, remember your place, servants must...' Isabella pulled away; Luke, for all his expertise, has the bad habit of getting above himself. 'If I am forced to marry his Lordship, there will be none of this...' she held her breath while Luke kissed her neck, '...familiarity.'

'There was no concern about knowing my place when you rode Shadow into the yard earlier.' He reached forward, put his arm around her waist and drew her close, whispering in her ear. 'You have every right to leave, after all I am just a stable hand, and you Madam are a fine upstanding lady, but I know you won't get anything like this in any of your fine houses.'

Isabella gasped, joyously free, relishing Luke's hot breath on her skin. Through her thin chemise she could feel Luke's huge cock pressed against her stomach. He was right she wouldn't find such raw talent, excitement, with a man of her class.

'Now Miss, turn around and allow me to release you from the confines of your class.'

Luke's body, as firm as a blacksmith's anvil, demanded her full attention and Isabella's stomach clenched as she was pushed forward over one of Shadow's hay bales. The feeling of vulnerability, of wanting to please Luke as much as he pleased her, the naked passion overwhelmed her and she wiggled her bottom.

'You are as randy as a mare in season,' he said, opening the split in her drawers.

Isabella felt cold air on her buttocks.

'Prepare to be served, woman,' Luke said.

Isabella was totally preoccupied with the eager young man gripping her waist to notice menacing footsteps stalking the stable yard. If she had, perhaps she could have stopped and saved herself. But Isabella could only hear her inconsistent heart battering her chest and feel Luke's large cock against her tight brown button arse.

Earlier that day

The morning began in its usual uneventful fashion. After breakfasting alone which had become the way of things recently, Isabella entered the withdrawing room of Silverton Manor at just after eleven.

Her father, sitting in his usual chair next to the unlit fire, his nose as red as Satan from drinking too much port, was reading the daily newspaper, hardly acknowledged her presence. Her mother, a nervous woman fussing over some triviality or other, lifted her cheek to accept the kiss that Isabella dutifully greeted her with. Today's matter for her mother to worry about was the invitations.

'Should we invite the Ward's?' her mother said with a sigh that barely disturbed the dust. 'I truly do not know if I should, after all it is well known that Mr Ward is in trade and not a man who mixes well with people of our status. What do you think dear?'

Isabella shrugged, she really didn't care who and of what social standing her mother thought should be invited to her wedding party

'Are you listening to me, Isabella?'

'Yes, Mother,' Isabella said, the lie slipping, as she prayed that mother would stop talking. The stifling atmosphere of the withdrawing room was too much for Isabella to bear, in fact the faded grandeur of the large Georgian house, felt more like a gilded prison than a family home. Boredom and frustration dampened her spirit.

'That is if I do marry that man' Isabella muttered, but she had forgotten that her father had ears akin to a hawk.

'Less of you insolence, girl,' her father growled and to reinforce his displeasure screwed up the newspaper he had been reading and threw it onto the floor.

'But Father, he is such a....' Isabella began, slightly taken aback by her father's involvement in the conversation. 'He is not a man I would choose to be my husband. When I reach the age of majority, on my next birthday, it will be my decision as to whom I marry. I tell you father I will not marry against my will.'

'It is of no consequence what you say or think, Isabella, you will marry Lord Simon DeVillier and that is an end to the matter,' her father snapped. 'You my girl will obey your parents.'

Isabella ran up the stairs, past the portraits of her ancestors, the long dead eyes staring at her as if they disapproved of her presence.

She slammed the bedroom door. How was she going to get out of this marriage? There was no doubt Lord Simon DeVillier on the death of his father the Earl would be one of the richest men in England.

So why did she dislike him so?

Frustration, burned inside her, and Isabella's thoughts turned from Simon DeVillier's haughty face, mother's interminable wedding planning, and father's haste to sell her to the highest bidder. Isabella rang for her maid.

'Madam,' Mary said gently as she opened the door. 'You rang for me, Madam?'

Isabella motioned to for her maid to enter, and pulling the door closed and locking it behind her. 'I need my riding habit,' she said. 'I have a mind to ride Shadow out over the moor.'

Mary bustled around the room, sorting out the riding outfit. A starched white shirt with small pearl buttons, a heavy tweed skirt designed for riding side-saddle, matching jacket and an ink-black riding hat. The maid carefully laid them out on the bed while Isabella stared into the mirror. She fiddled with the hair brushes, lined them up on the dressing table and absentmindedly picked them up one by one.

'Mary, come and brush my hair,' Isabella demanded, handing her maid a large, flat backed, mother-of-pearl brush.

'Yes madam,' said the maid eagerly.

Isabella sat looking at her reflection while her hair was vigorously brushed, until it shone like a burnished sunset. Mary was concentrating on her task, a small smile playing on her lips. Isabella decided to give the maid something more to smile about.

'Bring me the box,' Isabella ordered. 'I will need my riding crop today, Shadow needs a firm hand, do you not think?'

The maid hesitated.

'Did you not hear me, Mary?'

'Yes Madam, you said you want your riding crop.'

'Well hurry up girl,' Isabella said, licking her lips in anticipation and watching Mary pull a long, heavy, mahogany box from under the bed. With trembling hands, the maid opened it, revealing a selection of whips and crops, a pair of leather wrist restraints, and hidden at the bottom a small, leather covered, diary. The maid stood waiting for her mistresses' next command.

'Put it on the bed,' Isabella ordered.

'Madam,' Mary replied and bobbing a small curtsy asked. 'Will that be all?'

'No, I need you to help me dress, and...' Isabella hesitated, relishing the maid's discomfort, 'and should I find anything amiss, then you know I will have to chastise you.'

'Yes, Madam,' said Mary

She felt Mary's nervous fingers undo the buttons down the back of her day dress, slip it off her shoulders, and in doing so the maid's fingers briefly touched the top of her mistress's breasts. Isabella delighted in the feelings beginning to course through her body. The maid nervously scooped up the forest-green, heavy cotton, day-dress, and began heading for the door.

'And where do you think you are going?'

Mary stopped, holding dress tightly against her as if the swathe of green fabric would protect her from what was to come.

'Come here,' Isabella demanded, relishing her maid's discomfort.

'Madam,' Mary said, her head bowed and eyes averted, but Isabella could see the maid smile and, despite the girl's reluctance, knew Mary enjoyed these games as much as Isabella did.

'Now Mary, as usual you have been tardy in your duties and as you are aware I will not accept laxity in my servants.'

The maid nodded, shifting from one foot to another uncomfortably in-front of her mistress. Isabella turned and picked up the large flat-backed mother-of-pearl brush and slapped it against her palm, making Mary jump, taking a step back she raised her eyes to her mistress.

'Perhaps, madam, you would prefer if I...' Mary looked at her mistresses breasts. 'If I brought you some comfort before you admonished me?'

It was tempting, Mary was skilled with her tongue and the thought of those soft lips sucking and nibbling at her nipples, and licking her cunt clean, and the maid would most certainly be a distraction from the plans her parents were making for her future.

'Madam, are you not well?

'No, Mary, I am not,' Isabella sighed, stroking the back of the brush and turning to her maid.

'Get my plaited leather crop.'

Mary lifted the short riding crop, handing it to her mistress.

'Turn around.'

Mary turned her back and Isabelle slapped the crop against her thigh. It's wasp sting leaving a red mark across her leg.

'Lay over the end of the bed, and lift your skirt.'

The maid obliged and Isabella marvelled the dimpled bottom. Mary shivered. Excitement or fear Isabelle couldn't tell. Whatever it was her maid was wet, her hairy cunny red and swollen. Mary was ready.

'What happens when I am displeased with you?'

'You chastise me, Madam.'

Isabella raised the crop and struck the upturned buttocks. Mary gasped. A second strike, and a third and the large bottom glowed with striped dark red lines.

Her maid hitched her legs as if to ease the pain, but put up no resistance.

'I see you are disgustingly aroused by your punishment?'

'Yes, Madam.'

'I think you have been punished enough, you may release yourself.'

Isabelle watched as Mary's hand snaked between her legs and began rubbing her wet cunny.

'Would Madam help me?'

Isabella was tempted.

'Please, Madam.'

Isabelle returned to her dressing table, the bitter taste of marrying against her will stuck in her throat, taking away any thought of pleasuring Mary.

The maid grunted, sunk her fingers deep inside her wet cunny, and shuddered to a climax. Isabelle watched the maid pick up the short plaited leather riding crop from the floor, running her fingers along its length as if remembering its sting, then placed it on the riding habit.

'Will that be all, madam?'

'Yes Mary, I will dress myself today. Please shut the door behind you.'

Mary bobbed a curtsey, disappointment clouding her plump face, and left the room closing the door gently behind her.

Alone again, Isabella looked at her reflection. If only there were some handsome prince, or even a good looking pauper, who would sweep her off her feet and spirit her away. She would live in a hovel if it meant the future being planned in the drawing room by her mother could be changed.

Isabella dressed, ran down the stairs and out of the door before she could be called back, and strode across the rough cobbled yard towards the stables. Despite her best efforts, the darkness that sat on her heart cast a shadow over everything she did. It left her in an exceptionally bad humour.

Nearing the stable-block, Luke, was holding Shadow's reins. Without speaking or acknowledging his presence, Isabella stood on the mounting block and placed her foot in the stirrup. Luke, holding tightly onto the skittish horse, reached over and gave Isabella a firm push upwards, his hand squeezing her bottom as he did so.

'Do you need a hand, Miss?' he said looking at her, feigning a coy innocence.

'No, I can manage perfectly well myself,' Isabella snapped.

Luke's fingers explored the outline of her bottom and pushed between her legs even through the thick tweed riding skirt.

Isabella turned to admonish him, but she couldn't speak, and the words stuck in her throat, after all he was such a good looking boy, with arms like tree trunks, and a firm muscular body honed by labouring hard in the stables and forge. Temptation gnawed at her, her stomach tightening as if she were starving. Isabella briefly considered riding out later. Luke was always willing to give her his undivided attention.

Shadow, however, had different ideas and was impatient, stamping his feet, and tossing his head. Isabella reluctantly bushed Luke's eager hand away, swinging her leg over the pommel, slipped her foot into the stirrup and arranged her skirt. Taking hold of the riding crop she urged Shadow forward.

'Will you be long, Miss,' Luke said, removing the mounting block. Isabella saw him watching her, and, obviously aware of the affect his body had on her, as he slowly rubbed the front of his breeches.

'I...I am unsure how long I will be, however,' Isabella pulled Shadows reins and turned towards the stable-hand, all the time concentrating on the hard bulge in his breeches, 'I expect you to be here to care for Shadow on my return.'

'Yes Miss,' Luke smirked. 'I will certainly take care of things when you have finished your ride.'

Isabella gave Shadow's rump a sharp flick with the crop, the horse jumped and with its ears pricked with excitement they set off at a steady trot out of the yard. Isabella did not need to look back to know that the stable-hand had already disappeared to release the tension building up in his loins.

Isabella lent forward, and whispered into the pricked ears of her mount. 'Take me away, Shadow,'

Shadow kicked his heels and broke into a gallop, strong powerful legs pounding the ground, as they headed for the high peaks on the moors. She urged Shadow to take her away from wedding plans, to the wild freedom she craved.

Breathless Isabella patted her Shadow's quivering neck, the smooth silky coat, the sweetness of his breath, the tangy scent of foaming sweat covering his neck and flanks.

Beneath Hay Tor, lay miles of wild untamed moorland and far in the distance the sun glinted on the sea. There was nothing to stop her. The wind blew from the sea and Isabella licked her lips, tasting salt in the air.

Guiding Shadow towards a large flat rock, Isabella dismounted. She reached under the horse's hot belly, undid the saddle straps and removed it. The formality of riding side-saddle was only for the stifling, restricted, life of a gentlewoman. Here on the moors she could please herself, without constraint.

Isabella ran her hands over Shadows flanks, and they twitched under her touch, the animal enjoying the sensuousness of her fingers on him. The stallion gave her more than any man, strength, loyalty, and total confidence in her.

Without the saddle, Isabella climbed onto Shadow's back, flinging her legs across his broad flanks. She hitched up her skirt and whispered in Shadow's ears.

'It's just you and me. Off you go, I want to feel you carry me away,'

Shadow snorted, as if he knew the girl on his back wanted him to take charge, and to be taken wherever he chose to go.

With her legs, gripping to stop her from slipping, Isabella urged Shadow forward. Her skirt, cleverly cut for riding side-saddle, rose up showing off her shapely, legs and ankles, and with only a thin cotton undergarment between her and Shadow, Isabella felt every move, every muscle on the sinewy back.

Shadow gathered speed, from a trot to a canter, to a gallop. Isabella felt herself becoming more aroused, as the hard nub of her sex pressed against Shadows back.

With each thump of Shadow's hooves a jolt of delight shuddered through her. Her inner lips were swollen and she couldn't help but push herself deeper onto Shadow's flanks, her nub as hard as she had ever felt it

The heat from Shadows flanks travelled up her body and she leant forward, clinging to Shadow's neck, bearing down on his back. Her tender breasts were kneaded by Shadows strong neck muscles. Unable to release them from the constriction of her clothing, they ached painfully, but at the same time aroused her further.

When she could bear it no longer, compelled to pull Shadow up, Isabella felt the heat of release. She pressed herself hard on Shadows back, as wave upon wave of orgasm shot through her, leaving her clinging breathlessly to Shadow's neck.

As if understanding his mistress's satiated need, Shadow slowed to a gentle walk, and Isabella exhausted on his back. It was not until an hour later that she recovered enough to replace Shadow's saddle. Her intimate places tender and bruised, she mounted Shadow once again but this time as a lady, riding side-saddle, her skirt arranged to ensure all flesh hidden from view.

Shadow stamped, the afternoon air cold, and Isabella reluctantly turned the horses head from the freedom of the moors towards home.

Luke was nowhere to be seen when horse and rider entered the cobbled yard. Frustrated by the thought of having to see to the comfort of her own horse before she could rest, she flicked Shadow's rump with the crop and urged the animal into the darkness of the stables.

It took a few moments for her eyes to become accustomed to the gloomy interior. She felt a hand on her leg, lifting her skirt.

Luke had been waiting for her.

'What do you think you are doing?' Isabella hissed, but did not stop his hand from exploring. 'Help me down, and remember your place.'

Luke offered Isabella assistance. She swung her leg from the saddle, resting her full weight on the strong shoulders of the stable-hand. Whether by accident or design, Luke shifted his position and Isabella fell, she grabbed at the pommel to steady her descent, but Shadow intent on the fresh hay in his rack, stepped forward, leaving Isabella with nothing to prevent her from crashing onto the stable floor.

Straw and horse dung broke her fall and, mortified, Isabella lay in a state of disarray, Shadow steadily munched at the hay, Luke laughing at her discomfort.

'Give me some assistance,' Isabella demanded, infuriated with his insolent behaviour.

A strong hand was proffered, and Isabella found herself standing in the middle of the stable, straw, and muck, covering her riding habit, her long spun-copper hair hanging loose about her face.

'Miss, allow me.'

Luke diligently began removing the straw from her skirt, his quick hands on her body. His fingers slowed in their ministrations and hovered over her breast, he cupped one then the other as if weighing them and finding there was no resistance he undid a couple of pearl buttons and slipped a finger inside the crisp cotton blouse.

She was torn between slapping his hand and reminding him of his position or for him to continue while sparks of pleasure coursing through her body. She decided on the latter, allowing him to explore further.

His breath came in short and sharp gasps as he touched the softness of her breast and pinched nipple between his fingers.

'No,' she groaned.

'You want me to stop, Miss?' he said removing his fingers from the tight bud.

Isabella shook her head, unable to resist. Luke pulled her onto the straw and released one of her breasts, lowering his mouth onto her tender nipples.

Isabella shuddered, bolts of lightning exploding inside, the electrical charge making her senses reel. She grabbed Luke's soft curls and pulled his head onto her. He pinched and bit her until the nubs of her nipples, sent glorious shudders of delight down her spine.

The scent of her own arousal, mixed with the sweet smell of the straw, the sharpness Shadow's sweat mixed with Luke's hot breath, transported Isabella from thoughts of marriage and a bleak future.