Balling the Belle

Author's note - This is a work of fiction. The characters are all above the legal age of consent.

BALLING THE BELLE

Charlotte O'Leary tiptoed down the wide staircase of the Five Pines mansion. The other female guests of the estate's annual soiree were upstairs resting in anticipation of the evenings festivities. Charlotte wasn't interested in rest. Charlotte was horny.

She spied the object of her lust, Bentley Phelps, walking toward the drawing room with a bottle of fine brandy in his hand. Phelps was the scion of Five Pines, an elegant, bookish young man whom everyone agreed would do great things one day. Charlotte wanted him to do great things to her and she wanted them done now. She skipped across the marble floor, seized Bentley Phelps by the arm and dragged him into the library.

"Why, Charlotte. What is it?" He gave her a bemused, indulgent smile. "Why aren't you upstairs with the other ladies?"

"They bore the shit out of me," she said. "I want to be with you, Bentley."

"I'm flattered of course. But I have other guests to attend to." He showed her the bottle of brandy as though that explained everything.

"Your other guests are stodgy old men who can talk of nothing but war, war, the price of cotton and more war." Charlotte took the bottle from his hand and set it down on a small writing table. She batted her long eyelashes and turned in such a way that he couldn't help but notice the generous swell of her bosom. "Don't you think it would be more interesting to spend some time with me, Bentley?"

"I do. Yes, indeed I do. But I have responsibilities. You understand that don't you, my dear?"

She wanted to slap the condescending smile off his face but instead, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. Her tongue darted between his lips and hungrily explored his mouth. It was a kiss designed to enflame and entice. For good measure, Charlotte pressed her pelvis to his and moaned softly. But Bentley pushed her away.

"Charlotte, we mustn't."

"Yes, we must."

"No. No, we can't."

"Yes, we can." She reached for the buttons of his fly.

"No, Charlotte!" He brushed aside her anxious hand.

"For Chrissake, Bentley," she wailed. "Don't you want me? I'm hotter than a half-fucked rabbit in a forest fire and you're saying no? What's wrong with you?"

"There's nothing wrong with me," he said. "At least I hope not. The truth is, Charlotte...I'm betrothed to another."

"No!"

"Yes. To Bethany Wilmington."

"I don't believe it!" Charlotte staggered back a step. "Why would you want to marry that titless, mealy-mouthed heifer?"

"You mustn't speak that way about Bethany, Charlotte. She's a wonderful girl."

"She's a fucking mushroom."

"I'm sure you'll think differently after you've come to know her." Phelps smoothed down his lapels and retrieved his brandy. "And now I must return to my guests."

Charlotte seized an antique vase and would have sent it crashing into the back of Bentley's blonde head if he hadn't already closed the library door between them. Instead, she whirled and threw the vase in the opposite direction, where it sailed over a stuffed couch that faced the fireplace and shattered against the mantle.

"Has the war begun without me?" asked a disembodied voice.

Charlotte gasped with surprise. "Who's there?" she demanded. "Show yourself at once."

A handsome, grinning face appeared above the back of the sofa.

"You!" Charlotte hissed. "I know you...you're that scalawag from Charleston."

"Ben Rutler, Miss." He leapt to his feet and bowed from the waist. "At your service."

"How dare you eavesdrop on me, you...you..."

"And how dare you interrupt my nap with such a display of unmitigated lust?"

Charlotte sucked in her breath and turned crimson. "If you so much as breathe a word of this..."

Rutler cut her off with a wave of his hand. "I've no intention of sharing your secrets with anyone else, my dear. Nor your abundant charms."

"I can't imagine what you mean." She turned her back to him but Rutler crossed the room with a few quick strides and spun her to face him.

"I mean to have you, Charlotte," he said. "I expect there'll be no objections since you've already declared your need and that fool Bentley Phelps has turned you down."

"Don't you poor-mouth Bentley," she said. "You're not fit to say his name."

"Hah! A few minutes ago you were ready to brain him with a vase."

"Yes, well..."

"You practically begged him and my guess is he'd have liked to accommodate you. But he couldn't. A man like that is impotent in the face of your kind of beauty, Charlotte. Your desire emasculates him. You won't have that problem with me."

He took her roughly in his arms and crushed her lips with a hard kiss. "You need to be fucked, Charlotte, and fucked often by someone who knows how. Now lose that ridiculous hoop skirt."

Her lips tingled and his bruising kiss ignited a fire in her belly, but Charlotte O'Leary was raised to be a proper young lady, a child of class and privilege. Lessons of decorum and correct behavior been relentlessly drilled into her by her parents, her mammy, and a platoon of knuckle-busting nuns. Given the opportunity to engage in animalistic intercourse with a known scoundrel, Charlotte's education would not fail her.

"Ben?" she whispered.

"Yes, pet?"

"Would you please lock the door?"

She shed her bodice, her hooped skirt and several layers of petticoats. Stripped to his under drawers, Rutler helped her remove the whalebone corset that narrowed her waist and compressed her tummy. "A barbaric invention," he muttered, tossing it over his shoulder.

He slipped the straps of her chemise over her pale shoulders and pushed it down over her perfect breasts. "Exquisite," he said, bending to take a pink nipple between his lips.

"Oh, Ben," she murmured. The fire in her belly coursed downward and she pushed the chemise down over her hips to expose her lower body. His hand glided between her thighs. His fingers probed her dark curls and teased at her dewy flesh. An involuntary shiver passed through her when he pushed a digit through her eager portal. Charlotte threw her head back and her hips forward.

"Ben," she sighed. "Whoever told you it was permissible to touch a lady like that?"

"Delia Winston," he said. "She was my fifth grade teacher."

Charlotte reached down and plunged her hand into his linen drawers. His cock felt deliciously smooth and hard. She stroked it lightly with the tips of her fingers. It was warm and silky, yet strong and vibrant. She longed to have it inside her.

As though divining her thoughts, Ben eased his finger from her pussy and led her to the couch. "Sit here," he said, slapping a padded arm.

"Whatever for? Wouldn't we be more comfortable..."

"Be quiet," said Rutler, "and I'll show you some things I've learned." He lifted her by the waist and set her on the sofa's arm. Then to Charlotte's surprise, he dropped to his knees.

She resisted when he tried to push her legs apart but he was insistent and the kisses he bestowed up and down her legs weakened her resolve. Oh this is wicked! she thought as she parted her knees. Rutler kissed and nibbled at her thighs, tickling her with his mustache. He stroked the warm lips of her cunny with his fingertips, then entered her wet center with...Yes, his tongue!

"Oh, mercy me," Charlotte gasped. "Did Miss Winston introduce you to this? Oh! Oh my!"

He retracted his tongue long enough to say, "Actually it was our French governess, Sophie Duplaix."

His tongue darted through her delicious folds, teasing and tormenting. The perfume of her womanhood rose to her nostrils and excited her. Shame on you! It's vulgar and common, Charlotte argued with herself. No, by God! It's wonderful! And when Ben Rutler's clever tongue pressed against her secret, the tiny wonder she'd discovered as a girl sliding down polished banisters, Charlotte shuddered and shouted, "Merci beaucoup, Sophie!"

She swooned and fell back onto the couch, trembling and breathless. "Oh, Ben...Oh, my...I believe I'm going to faint."

"You'll do no such thing, Charlotte," said Rutler. "I'm not though with you yet. Not by a long shot."

He pulled her to her feet and sat down beside her on the sofa. "Straddle my legs, pet. And sit on my lap."

"But I'll be sitting on your...Never mind."

She opened her legs wide, bent her knees and backed up until she was hovering over his loins. He kissed her on both cheeks and took hold of her hips to guide her descent. The tip of his prick gained entry. She held her breath and eased down until she was pleasingly impaled, his swollen shaft buried deep with her.

Charlotte released her breath in a long sigh. "And who have I to thank for this lesson, Ben?"

"Miss Lucy Mayberry."

"Parlor maid?"

"Riding instructor. Shall we canter?"

She rocked back and forth, slowly at first, then eagerly as her secret was exposed once again. He took her hips in his big hands and urged her up, then down. She rose and fell, on his slippery cock, faster and faster, her thighs pounding his with slapping sounds. She leaned back and bounced higher and harder. He reached for her bobbling breasts and squeezed her erect nipples between his fingers.

Charlotte growled like a she-bear. She wailed. She yelped. Her second climax produced a high pitched keen that Ben Rutler would later liken to a whistling teakettle.

When the cries of her ecstasy quieted, she slumped forward. He felt her thumping heart and her hot breath on his leg.

"Charlotte?' he said. "Are you all right, my dear?"

She giggled and ground on his cock. "Oh, I'm a fair sight better than all right, Ben darling."

"In that case, shall we proceed?"

"Oh, yes, let's"

"On your hands and knees, Charlotte. There on the floor."

She leapt from the saddle and quickly arranged herself in the required position. "Do you mean to mount me like a horse?" she asked, wiggling her sweet bottom.

"I was thinking more of my Daddy's coon hounds," he said. "There's much to be learned by watching animals breed."

"Show me what you've learned, then," she purred. "Fuck me like a dog. Or a horse. Or a striped-assed monkey, I don't care...Just do it now!"

Without further adieu, he knelt behind her and thrust himself deep in her welcoming pussy with one well-aimed lunge. Her breath was forced from her with a soft "Oof." A second thrust driven by Rutler's muscled thighs produced a similar reaction. Again, he took hold of her hips, plunging and thrusting with the unrelenting rhythm of a steam engine. Charlotte chuffed like a happy locomotive, "Oof, oof, oof..."

Leaning on one forearm, she reached back with her free hand, confidant that Ben Rutler wouldn't judge her harshly. She felt the spear of his rigid cock sliding between her fingers. In, out, in...She stroked her lush lips and felt for...There! How liberating it was to visit her secret place openly and in the company of another. She kneaded her tiny button with the pad of her finger while Rutler continued to rut with gusto. "Oof, oof, oof...ooooof!"

She stiffened and arched her back as another orgasm took her, held her, flooded her with tingling ecstasy. "Oh, Ben," she whispered.

He eased back and uncoupled from her. Charlotte stretched out on her belly, joyfully exhausted. Her knees were chafed, she was slick with sweat and her pussy was bound to leave a damp stain on the carpet but she couldn't have cared less. She was, for the first time in her life, a well-fucked woman, sated and deliriously happy. The girls upstairs would be green with envy - if only there was some way she could tell them.

Charlotte closed her eyes and listened as Ben Rutler rose to his feet and moved about the room humming "The Bonnie Blue Flag." She supposed he was dressing but when she looked up, Rutler was standing over her smoking a long, green cigar. He smiled down at her through a blue haze, his cock still at the ready.

Slowly she got to her knees, her eyes fixed on his erection. Before today her sexual adventures had been hurried, unsatisfying unions. She'd never actually seen the penises that were plunged into her by callow, unskilled lovers. She crept forward on her hands and knees, determined to advance her education.

Rutler's cock was damp and sticky, but thick and strong and pleasingly heavy in her hand. She leaned close and breathed in the musky perfume of their love-making. A glistening drop of moisture adorned the tip like a pearl. Charlotte touched her tongue to it, then licked it away. Pleased with the taste and her own daring, she kissed the swollen head and closed her fist around the shaft.

She stroked her hand back and forth and licked hungrily at the end of Rutler's joy prong, delighted with the taste of her own pussy. He sighed and laid an encouraging hand on the back of Charlotte's head. She took a deep breath, then opened her mouth.

How lewd! she thought, bobbing her pretty head back and forth. How salacious! She sucked him in deeper and deeper. How absolutely divine!

Rutler responded to her efforts with low moans and rhythmic thrusts of his hips. Charlotte squeezed his swinging balls and hummed contentedly, "Mmn, mmn, mmn."

She felt him tense and heard a rumbling growl rising from his throat. "Oh, yes," he whispered.

She tried to pull back but Rutler's hand her firmly in place as his prick erupted like a pink volcano and spewed jets of creamy lava into her mouth. Charlotte fought back her panic, wondered briefly what etiquette demanded in such a situation, and lacking any other option, swallowed.

Well, that wasn't so bad, she thought. In fact...She pumped Rutler's cock with her first and sucked greedily, hungrily devouring all he had to offer. "Mmn, mmn, mmn."

A satisfied, "Ahhh," from Rutler brought Charlotte springing to her feet. She batted her lashes and rubbed her breasts against his chest, preening and simpering, begging to be petted and praised like a spaniel who'd just fetched a prize mallard.

"Was it good, Ben?"

"It was wonderful, Charlotte."

"You're just being nice. Your really are a gentleman, Ben."

"No, I mean it sincerely. It was truly special."

"Fiddle-dee-dee. With all your experience? Why I'll bet you've had..."

"Oh, I've had my cock sucked before," he said, puffing on his cigar. "As a matter of fact, this is the second time today."

"No!"

"Oh, yes. Just before lunch. And in this very room." He threw back his head and laughed.

Charlotte's temper flared, fueled by a good bit of jealousy. She was reasonably certain she was in love with Ben Rutler and already she had a rival. Who could it be? She cast a dark look at the ceiling. It had to be one of the women upstairs - one of those pale faced hussies who were supposedly resting before the evening entertainments. Somebody was up there giving her jaws a rest and Charlotte meant to find out who.

"Who was it, Ben? You must tell me."

"Now that wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me, would it?"

"I don't care. I have to know. Was it Felicity Barnstable? Hope Chesterfield? Claudia? Mimzie? It couldn't possibly have been Bethany Wilmington?"

"It wasn't. In fact, it wasn't any of those fair young maidens." Rutler set his cigar in an ashtray and began gathering his clothes. "But if it really means so much to you Charlotte, I'll tell you who it was."

"Who? Who, Goddamn it, who?"

"Frankly my dear," he said with a smile, "it was Bentley Phelps."

the end