Cupping her elbow lightly in his hand, Goncourt led Lady Huysmans from the
dining room, across the tiled hall to the broad sweeping staircase. She was
a
haughty woman, he knew she would flinch at any more intimate touch, a woman
of
breeding who hunted and rode to hounds and would feel herself to be a little
above the likes of him. Her cool reserve throughout dinner had been an annoyance
to him, the ice in her eyes and the pride in her smile infuriating. She held
herself aloof, looked down on him, as if challenging him to even dare think
he
might be her equal.
Yet if there was annoyance in that challenge there was also excitement, for
she
was a beautiful woman, a delicate aristocracy about her features, a dark disdain
about the set of her mouth which he could not disregard, and Goncourt felt
a
thrill in his loins as he thought of how her pride might be broken.
Slowly they climbed the staircase to the first floor of the manor house,
gently
he guided her along the corridor to the playroom, the only sound for the moment
the soft rustle of her long silk skirt.
Her marked disinterest when he had first mentioned the room had momentarily
angered him, the condescending way she had said 'how interesting' when he
had
told her of his collection of toys. As if such things were beneath her, as
if
such a passion on his part could be no passion at all, but indicative of a
solitary man's sad life.
She had finally been persuaded to see, though, if only to satisfy her curiosity
about the man who had bought the manor, if only to humour him. And now she
would
learn, about passion.
"They are mainly Victorian items in my collection," he told her,
as they reached
the end of the corridor and began to mount a final shallow flight of stairs.
"The Victorians were not the dull people they are sometimes made out
to be," he
continued, as he produced a key and slipped it into the lock. "They too
had
their secrets, their passions, their dark desires."
"Really?" she said, stifling a yawn behind her hand as she waited
for him to
turn the key.
"Oh yes, as dark as yours I would guess," Goncourt smiled, finally
unlocking the
door, and as he pushed it inwards he caught a first glint of interest in her
steel grey eyes. "After you, Lady Huysmans," he gestured, with a
courteous wave
of the hand.
She entered the room, her skirt brushing against him as she passed, leaving
a
faint hint of her perfume in her wake, a delicate fruity fragrance. Goncourt
followed, closing the door after them, remained a step behind Lady Huysmans
as
he admired her slender waist, the swell of her hips, imagined the firm thighs
beneath the fine silk.
He gave her a moment to take in the room.
It was dimly lit, lights flickering to resemble weak yellow gas lamps making
shadows dance lazily across the walls, and in the amber gloom she could make
out
cabinets and shelves bearing all manner of objects; soft toys and tin automata,
porcelain dolls and carved ivory figures, wind-up toys which stood eerily
still
for the moment, looking almost menacing in their inert state.
In the centre of the room, though, dominating all and commanding her attention,
was a large wooden rocking horse.
It stood the size of a pony, exquisitely carved, the wood polished and
lacquered, painted a creamy white and dappled with grey, its mane and tail
of
coarse jet hair. Its forelegs reared dangerously, its hind legs stretched
back
gracefully; face snarling and eyes bulging, it seemed imbued with power, a
magnificent beast caught in mid gallop.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Goncourt said, speaking softly as he came
up beside Lady
Huysmans, then taking her by the elbow once more and leading her towards it.
"There is some craftsmanship there," she conceded, touching her
hand to its
polished flank, lacquered nails resting lightly on the lacquered wood which
felt
warm, as if the beast breathed. She stroked her fingers back and forth, said,
"Yes, there's no denying it's well made."
He let her stroke the horse for a moment, then asked, "Would you like
to mount
it, sit astride it, perhaps? Its polished flanks would feel so good between
your
thighs."
She withdrew her hand sharply, as if the horse had turned and snapped at
her.
"Oh, I think not!" she laughed nervously.
Of course! Such childish amusements would be beneath such a haughty woman!
"Just for a moment?" he pressed her, smiling slyly to himself as
he noted how
her pale cheeks had coloured slightly, how the matt steel grey of her eyes
had
taken on a brighter sparkle. He looked slowly about the room, as if searching
the shadows. "There is no one else here, no one to see. And I did say
the
Victorians had their secrets. The horse is not all that it seems to be."
Her curiosity was piqued, for the first time that evening she grinned, albeit
cautiously. "Well..."
"Come on!" he encouraged her, his hand in the small of her back
to urge her
forward, moving her that final step so that her thighs pressed against the
side
of the horse. "You could be a child once again, laugh with joy for once,
rather
than out of disdain."
A little modestly, she said, "I would have to pull up my skirt. It is
too long,
would get in the way of me sitting astride the saddle."
"Or you could go naked perhaps?" Goncourt now bravely suggested.
"Bareback
riding? You could pretend to be galloping naked through the night, you and
the
horse dappled by the moonlight, a flashing free spirit in the darkness of
the
woods."
She frowned, her eyes flashing like daggers at him, then hitched up her skirt
daintily with one hand, offered him the other. "Help me," she said.
Steadying the horse with one hand, with the other Goncourt took hers and
helped
her to climb into the saddle, enjoying the momentary glimpse of firm white
thighs before her skirt spilled back over them.
"Now put your feet in the stirrups, take hold of the reins," he
told her, and
when she was settled, once she had done as instructed, he took his hand from
the
horse.
It rocked gently beneath her weight, an inch or two forward, an inch or two
back.
Lady Huysmans' smile returned, her manner again a little less aloof, as if
she
was allowing to surface some vestige of that child which he had encouraged
her
to be. She turned to him, said, "I can almost feel its heart beating
between my
legs."
Goncourt nodded his understanding, said, "They do say that horse-riding
can be
exciting for a woman, all that raw power between her thighs. Is that true,
Lady
Huysmans?"
"Yes, I suppose there is something in that," she agreed, running
her fingers
through the horse's mane, along the side of its neck.
"And the control you have over that power? Perhaps that has something
to do with
it?"
"Perhaps," she said, a little distractedly, her mind perhaps taking
her back to
the hunt, or to the point-to-point, enjoying the sensation for real.
"But suppose you had no control over that power," Goncourt ventured,
and his
voice now took on a darker tone. "Suppose that power was unbridled, so
to speak,
in the same way that passion is sometimes described."
"Meaning?" she asked, turning to him once more.
"Lean forward a little, take firm hold of the reins," he told her,
offering no
explanation. And then, when she hesitated: "Please? Trust me? Take tight
hold of
the reins as you would do when riding to hounds."
With a patient smile and a shake of the head, humouring him once more, Lady
Huysmans did as he asked, fingers clenching around the leather reins, bowing
her
head forward so that the horse began to dip.
"But did you not see the hole in the saddle?" Goncourt then asked,
stopping the
horse's movement for a moment.
"I did wonder," she admitted.
"About its purpose, perhaps?"
"Yes."
Grinning, Goncourt gave the horse's rump a push and it rocked forward again,
but
this time with a little more force than when she first mounted it. And as
it
rocked forward, as she bent over its neck, an oiled wooden phallus slid up
from
the hole to nudge between her parted thighs, push up against her knickers,
pressing the smooth silk against the lips of her cunt.
"Good grief!" she gasped, her head snapping up, and the horse rocked
back before
the phallus could penetrate her.
Goncourt caught the horse, held it still, asked, "A nice surprise?"
"God yes!" she was forced to admit.
"Then part your knickers, or better still remove them, and the surprise
will be
even more delightful."
"Dare I?" she asked, but already she was rising in the saddle,
lifting one foot
from the stirrup, then the other, to pull the flimsy silk knickers down her
legs.
She flung them away and then sat, feeling the smooth lacquered saddle against
her bare flesh.
"You have positioned yourself?" Goncourt asked her, and Lady Huysmans
simply
nodded, her eyes closed, her hands gripping the reins. "Then ride a cock
horse,
my fine lady!"
Goncourt gave the horse a firm shove and it rocked, dipping forward so that
the
phallus slipped into her bared cunt, then rearing back so that it slipped
out. A
second penetration followed, a third, but each one shallower as the horse
slowed. This time he let the horse come to a rest of its own accord, standing
back a little with arms folded to enjoy Lady Huysmans' delight. He waited
until
she turned to him once more, grinned at her, his eyes questioning, asking.....
More?
Lady Huysmans grinned back at him lasciviously.
"Okay then, at a canter," he said, and gave the horse another push.
It rocked,
back and forth, back and forth, the phallus slipping in and out of her seven,
eight, nine times. She gasped and tightened her thighs, but with each rock
the
movements of the horse got slower, shallower, until finally it came to a halt
again. "Does that frustrate you?" he guessed.
"Push me harder!" Lady Huysmans demanded, her face contorting into
a snarl,
baring her teeth..
"One moment, I have an idea," said Goncourt, set the horse rocking
gently so
that the phallus just teased the lips of her cunt, and then moved away, crossed
the room.
"Where are you? What are you doing?" Lady Huysmans asked urgently,
twisting to
look over her shoulder but unable to see him.
And then, just as the horse was slowing to a frustrating halt once more,
she
heard him return, his step heavy, his stride quick. She wondered, heard a
‘swish' along with his laughter.
"How do we make the horse go faster?" he asked, and struck a riding
crop hard
across her buttocks as he answered, "Why we beat it of course!"
Lady Huysmans screamed as her body lurched forwards, driving the phallus
deep
inside her, threw her head back as the horse reared, her mouth open in a rictus
of pain and delight. Again he hit her and she sobbed, moaned, felt the crop
sear
her buttocks and the phallus fill her cunt, and with each stroke she was made
to
bend lower over the horse until she was rocking back and forth in a frenzy.
"Gee up! Faster!" cried Goncourt, striking her cruelly now, with
all his force,
making the horse dip so low that the only thing keeping Lady Huysmans in the
saddle was the wooden cock inside her. "Ride! Ride like the wind!"
The cries which came from her now were as bestial as any the horse might
have
made, racking sobs, unintelligible gasp of pleasure, howls of pain and delight
reverberating about the playroom. Her carefully pinned hair had come loose
and
hung about her shoulders, damp strands against her neck, there was a flush
to
her cheeks and a sheen of perspiration on her brow.
And a more vivid flush to her buttocks where angry red weals had been raised
by
the crop.
Finally Goncourt brought the blows to an end, stroked the crop lightly over
her
stinging buttocks as he let the horse's movements subside.
"But perhaps there is a gentler way to do this?" he mused, once
the horse had
come to a halt and Lady Huysmans lay sprawled across it, exhausted, her arms
wrapped around its neck.
Wearily she turned her head to see Goncourt starting to remove his clothes,
slipping off his shirt to reveal a body which was as finely sculpted as the
horse‘s, kicking away his trousers to bare thighs which
she knew could grasp
her firmly, finally stepped from his shorts to produce a cock which was every
bit as magnificent as the wooden one which had been pounding inside her.
She sighed and closed her eyes, faced ahead as she felt his naked body mount
the
horse behind her, his strong arms wrapping around her and clutching her to
his
broad chest. With a thrust of his hips against her he started the horse gently
rocking once more, tapped the crop lightly against her thigh and pressed his
body against hers, teasing the wooden phallus against her cunt.
She leant her body back against him, wanting the phallus deeper, the horse
rocking more vigorously, but for the moment he denied her. His hands travelled
down the front of her dress, slowly unfastening the buttons, then peeling
it
from her shoulders and flinging it away. Leaning back a little, he unhooked
her
bra and tossed that aside too, then cupped her breasts and held her close.
Leaning into her, hands squeezing her breasts and fingers toying with her
nipples, he brought his face alongside hers and kissed her ear as he rocked
the
horse faster. The wooden phallus felt larger still inside her now, the beast
beneath her even more alive, and she felt weak in Goncourt's embrace, his
strength sapping hers and crushing her will. She was no longer the haughty
aristocrat, cold and detached; she was now a rampant creature burning with
passion, his to do with as he pleased.