"The Golden Thread" - "Victoria" ITV Erotic Fanfiction - Chapter Five
Victoria’s wedding night looms. Unschooled in love and afraid, who else would she turn to but her mentor in all things, her beloved Lord Melbourne? USUAL DISCLAIMERS APPLY
Icon credit: my_golden_boots
His hair was wet, she realised. Had bringing her joy been such strain? Yet as her consciousness clambered out of its golden haze, she became aware of perspiration on her own brow, on her upper lip and between her breasts. This strain - it was something they had both felt. And it was good.
Lord Melbourne sat up and brought her knees together but did not break his touch. He rubbed the outside of her thighs as he looked down on her with a kindly expression. Nevertheless, with his tousled hair, shirt sweat-stained and pulled asunder, he reminded her of something quite different. “You look like an awful pirate,” she told him and giggled.
“Well,” he said and his face flickered as he adopted the new tone of the moment. “Was that to your taste, Ma’am?”
“Ahem,” she muttered as she wondered whether to dare what she would dare. “Was it to your taste, Lord M?” Then she put her hands over her face and laughed uproariously.
“Very much so.” He lay down beside her once more, bathing in her merriment.
When she had finished, she propped herself up on her elbow and looked into his beloved face. She brought up a hand and explored it in the same fashion she had before, except this time, she lingered over his glistening lips and cheeks. Victoria shook her head. “I never imagined a man would…” She met his frank green eyes and a word flashed through her mind; that indecent, exciting word he had told her was meant for him. William - he had a cock. She had not seen it but now she could not stop thinking about it. Perhaps it was hard as a stallion’s. Perhaps that was a ridiculous thought and men only became hard when they were about to penetrate a woman. Holding his attention with sparkling eyes, she moved her hand down from his face and along his body. Frills at the neckline; a brief encounter with the fur of his chest; undulating stomach muscles beneath the linen; the mysterious lumps that pushed out the front of his breeches. Tentative fingers danced over the bulge then gently cradled it.
Lord Melbourne grasped her wrist. “Victoria, you do not need to do that.”
“Call me Drina, please.”
“Drina -"
“I know I do not need to. I want to.” She sat up and pursued her exploration, pressing, tickling, even stroking the bulge with the backs of her fingers. She looked like some great child in her shapeless shift, all eyes and waterfall hair. “But I do not know what I am touching. A man’s anatomy is not entirely familiar to me.”
He blinked. “You understand he has a cock, yes? And that it becomes hard when he is aroused.”
“When he is about to indulge in amorous congress.”
“Not just then. It can happen any time. A thought alone can make his pole rise. It is wont to happen at the most inappropriate moments…”
She smiled shyly. “In truth?”
“Indeed. In the past, my own has risen simply because I was in your presence.”
She shook her head. “If only I had known.” Then her expression changed, strong brows coming together almost in annoyance. “I hear it said that a man’s member becomes hard but how does it become hard? I cannot fathom it.”
“It fills with blood, the way a person’s cheeks fill with blood when they feel bashful.”
“Oh,” she said, her cheeks doing that very thing. “Are you not afraid it will break?”
“Break?”
“If it is hard, could it not break?”
“No, my dear Drina.” He could not suppress a laugh. “It is unlikely to break. Though we term it ‘hard’, it still has some softness to it and it is flexible at the base to accommodate the movements of the loved one.”
“I see. And does it turn red, the way my ridiculous face has become red?”
“A little.” He reached up and cupped her chin. “The bulb in particular.”
“The bulb?”
“The tip of one’s cock. It becomes swollen and…” The last words were choked off. Lord Melbourne’s face turned stiff.
“Oh, William, whatever is the matter?”
He turned to her with a fire in his eyes she had not seen before. It did not project from them but burned deep within, drawing her in, the way the eyes of a leopard consume all who meet its gaze. Green fire, otherworldly fire. He said, “I want so much to take you. All this talk… I am as excited in my own way as you were. Please...” He hung his head - shielded her from the fire.
Victoria stared at the floor, shaking her head but when she lifted her face, there was the beginning of assent in her eyes.
“I know I must not. I must not.”
“Then show me how a man’s body works,” she beseeched, “the way you have shown me how a woman’s body works. Find some way to bring yourself release and allow me to be there.”
Lord Melbourne made a noise in the back of his throat and swallowed at the delicious, terrifying, longed-for prospect. “Very well.” He sat up on his heels and began to unbutton his breeches. He continued his instruction as he went. “And you are aware that beneath a man’s cock lie his bawbles. They contain his seed.”
Riveted, Victoria simply nodded.
“That this seed emerges when his excitement reaches its peak and passes into the woman.”
“How many seeds? Is it a different number for every man?”
His hand was inside now, grasping his shaft. He tugged on the waistband of his breeches until they lay halfway down his hips. “One cannot observe individual seeds. It is a fluid that emerges, a whitish fluid of viscous consistency. It is the visible sign of a man’s crisis. It does not come forth all in one gush but in spurts that are married to the spasms of pleasure he feels.”
“But that is what I felt! Spasms of pleasure! Are you saying that a man’s and a woman’s experience are the same?” Her face glowed with tremendous enthusiasm. “I felt a muscular tension that rose and rose, and there was a sense of moving towards something although I knew not what and then the note was struck, like the climax of a dramatic musical piece, soprano voices ringing out while the orchestra crashes and clashes around them, and my body was spasming along with that sensation you have just described, wave after wave of white-hot joy -”
It had lain at an angle inside his breeches. As Lord Melbourne pulled it out, it bounced before settling into a strong-angled stand, his white shirt draped on either side.
All was silence. Victoria shrank back. It looked so alien, starting up from a thatch of wiry, dark hair. It looked furious, as if it were coming for her, as if it would not take ‘no’ for an answer.
“Drina - I am still here. Look at me.”
She lifted her head, apprehension a sullen troll behind her eyes.
“It is merely a part of me. If you trust me, then you can trust that part of me, too.”
“It just seems so large.”
“I know. It is hard to believe it could fit inside a woman. But, believe me, it has had precisely the opposite effect on women from that which you picture now. Or so I have been told. I think of it as my pleasure-giver.” He pulled off his white shirt. There was an expanse of chest, broad shoulders, less chest hair than she might have imagined. An endless vista of olive skin. He looked quintessentially masculine. And vulnerable. A spear could pierce his flesh just as readily as it could a woman’s.
A warm smile that reached his eyes invited her approach and to consolidate the offer, he held out his hand.
She shuffled up and then they were face-to-face, sitting up on their knees, Victoria’s small hand enclosed in his. He lifted it, unfurled the fingers and placed it flat against his chest. A squeeze told her it was time to sally and she did, circling her palm against the firm yet giving flesh. An indulgent smile appeared on her lips, one she had only ever bestowed upon Florian or Dash.
“There is nothing to fear here,” he said as he moved her hand to a more intimate place, “nothing at all.” He pressed her fingers around the shaft. “Does it feel warm?”
“Yes.”
“Does it feel soft? Harder deep inside, yes, but yielding on top?”
“Oh, yes.”
Forehead to forehead, they both looked down in wonder. “Look,” said Lord Melbourne, “you have already excited me. A bead of bliss has appeared at the tip.” He smeared the fluid around the head with a delicate touch.
“Oh - it twitched!”
“What did I tell you?”
She voiced a small throb of laughter. “It feels a little like self-heal.”
“Self-heal?” He shook his head.
“It is a wild plant. It has a fleshy stem with purple flowers and it grows in some of the lawns here at Buckingham. I always stoop to press it between my fingers. It is delightfully squidgy.”
“Would you care to - squidge? - me?”
She gave him a luxuriating squeeze.
“My darling…” Lord Melbourne placed his hand beside hers. “Shall I show you what comes next? Will you forgive me the sin of Onan?”
Her smile was wry and one-sided.
“You see this here? This is the prepuce. It moves when I move my hand. When my cock is at rest, it covers the bulb and protects it. This is the part Jews remove so their members always look like this.” He pulled the foreskin all the way back, allowing her to see the head fully.
“Well, now it looks like a mushroom.”
“Yes, that is commonly said. The bulb is very sensitive. Only the gentlest touch should be used there and it preferable for it to be moist.”
“How does one make it moist?”
“Sometimes it provides its own moisture and sometimes…” Lord Melbourne raised his hand to his mouth and licked the palm discreetly before returning it to his member and smoothing it over the head in a polishing motion.
“May I?” Victoria’s hand moved up from his shaft and closed over the end. She rolled it in her palm, holding it just tightly enough to feel the pulse in it then used the tips of her fingers to trace the ridge.
A high-pitched sound. She blinked. It was too shrill, surely, to have come from her sober Prime Minister. But, in faith, it had! An exquisite touch had elicited an exquisite response. “So silky,” she mused. “Why, men are much softer than I imagined they would be.”
He took her hand again and moved it farther down, below his shaft. “And here now, what do you feel?”
“Two round structures. This is where your seed resides.” She clutched them lightly. “But they are not separate - they are together in a sack of skin.”
“That is true. The sack keeps them safe. Ensures I do not accidentally leave one behind when I leave the house.”
Victoria giggled, her dark hair falling forwards on either side of her face.
“Be careful there, too.”
“Oh dear, you poor men! It seems we women must be gentle with you everywhere!”
“Men are far more sensitive than you might think, in all manner of ways. However, if you touch me there - yes, there, upon the shaft - you may be a little more vigorous.” He took his cock mid-way along in a firm grip, waited for her to settle graceful fingers over his and slowly began to pull. “See how the skin moves. I take it right up to the ridge of the bulb.”
His little lover’s head moved this way and that, observing his pleasure from a variety of angles.
“My hand moves away from the body, all the pressure being applied on the upstroke. It is getting even harder now. See how the bulb swells…”
“And this is how a man brings himself to his crisis?”
“Yes. You may have heard it called ‘fetching mettle’.”
“And how does the seed emerge?”
“From that small slit in the end just there.”
“Oh, William!” she cried in a sudden passion. “I must see all of you!” Her hands came up to his chest and pushed him down until he found himself lying exactly where she had lain not so long before. Her eyes roamed his body. “Is all this playground mine to enjoy?” she said as she bowed over him. She ran a hand up the inside of one tightly-clad thigh, around his erect member and up his stomach to his chest. As she felt him attempt to rise, she applied the slightest pressure and was delighted when he succumbed to her command, notwithstanding both of them knew he could easily overpower her if he wished. The power of his chest was manifest in the rise and fall of his breath. Such a cavern lay beneath this veneer of flesh, resounding with the utterances of a thousand priests and men of war. Men were a juxtaposition. They were the humble servants of the whims of one’s flesh and the shark that destroys with one bite.
Victoria watched.
He began to relax into the touch both of them now lavished on his upright pole, head falling back, eyes closing. For a while, his face tilted towards the fire and the little queen became captivated by the line of a certain tendon in his neck. It was beautifully arched, subtly strained, the incarnation of the body’s strive for pleasure. Every now and then, his stomach muscles clenched and he pushed his hips upwards. This was often accompanied by a guttural sound. At one point, he brought his other hand down to his groin and cradled his sack, lifting it and warming it. Inspired, Victoria rubbed along his thigh, letting her fingers slide up to the depression where his thigh met his hip. The fur there felt velvety, pleasant to the touch.
His head rolled back in line with his body. There was perspiration now, and his chest and cheeks were flushed. Hooded eyes opened and looked at her along the landscape of his body. His face, usually so serious, was rapt with pleasure - not just the pleasure of the flesh but of the pride he took in her. “Dear, sweet, innocent Drina,” he gasped, “cherub sent from Heaven to test and reward me, my agony of bliss is near. You must steel yourself. Some women are disgusted by the spurt of a man’s seed. Others react badly simply because they are surprised. I do not want you to be disturbed by what you see. If you wish, turn away now.”
“No!” Her face was earnest. “I want to see you in your joy. I am afraid of nothing any longer.”
“Oh my love, my love,” he repeated. “I shall direct it towards myself so none of it falls upon you.” With that, he began to move his fist up and down to a furious beat. Victoria struggled to hold on, fearing her arm would be torn off at the shoulder by the violent movements. His cock looked swollen, felt thick in her grasp. His knees came up; she moved around so she sat not beside him but between his legs. She was surprised to note his ballocks moving of their own accord, occasionally tightening as some superlative stroke had him leaping closer to his goal.
But it was his face she was most intrigued by. For an instant, he flashed her a look she had never imagined she would see on the face of her unflappable Prime Minister: like that of a prisoner pleading for mercy from a brutal prison guard. Then he bit his bottom lip and began to breathe heavily through his nose. His entire upper body was a portrait of terrific strain with its red-flushed skin and corded tendons. He grunted and then he spoke, voice hoarse, “Yes - yes, there it is, my gush, my pearly shower.” He pulled his cockstand towards himself and right out of Victoria’s grip. Her mouth fell open as she watched it pulse with the seed rising from his sack. Then - huzzah! - something erupted from the tip.
Victoria shrieked and leant back on her hands but Lord Melbourne had kept his promise. The ropes of seed arced down onto him; creamy, glutinous strings that splashed onto his stomach and dripped down his sides or turned into precious gems caught in the hair of his chest.
She laughed. Laughed at her own surprise like a spectator at a firework display. She craned her neck forwards to get a better look. “Incredible.” She shook her head yet her smile was broad.
The touch of annoyance he felt at her reaction was lost in the mellowness of his comedown. He continued to rub himself, urging out the final spurts before permitting himself to surrender to insensibility, at least for a moment or two.
“Did you feel it coming out?”
“What was that, dearheart?” He looked at her with bleary, contented eyes.
“The seed. Could you feel it emerging? Is the gushing outwards a part of the pleasure itself?”
His eyebrows flicked. “I suppose so, yes.”
“Strange. For me, it felt like a pulling inwards.”
“I see. Well, that may be because you are a woman and I am a man, as we have recently established.”
Victoria chuckled. A mischievous look came over her and she darted forward to kiss Lord Melbourne’s spent cock where it lay on his thigh.
Delighted, he rolled his head from side to side. “Ah, if I were ten years younger, I would twitch for you again.”
Further emboldened, she reached out a hand to touch a bead of joy caught in his thatch.
“No.” He pushed her hand away. “You must not touch it. If you were to touch it and then touch your flower, you might fall foul of me.” He began to wipe himself down with his shirt.
Victoria looked sheepish. She went to the pitcher and basin, and washed her hands. And while her back was turned, she conceived the peculiar notion that none of it had happened. Surely it was not possible that her beloved Prime Minister was there in her bedroom, that they had engaged in amorous congress, that both had paraded their rapture with such lack of inhibition? Yet when she turned back to the hearth, there he was. He had shed his boots and breeches (at last), and lay stretched out upon the rug, dark and wolfish. And beckoning. Victoria ran to the naked wildman who had taken over her bedroom, her childhood, her heart.
Wrapped in his arms, she felt at peace at last. She laid her head upon his bosom.
He rocked her and stroked her back. “Are you still afraid of tomorrow?”
She had known this question would come. She twisted her fingers in the hair at the base of his throat. “Let us not talk of that.”
“We must, Drina. It is the whole point of tonight. I need to know if you now believe it is possible to experience pleasure in the bedchamber.”
“You know I do!”
“Then you must trust that your Albert will be able to do for you what I have done. He will be the one who deflowers you.”
“There are many firsts in a woman’s life,” she mused, “and she forgets none of them.”
“I should hope not.” He pulled her close and kissed her cheek.
They lay like that for some time, the barely-a-woman-queen with the huge eyes and the naked man, fully potent and full of tenderness. Then Victoria said, “Will you promise me just one thing?”
Icon credit: my_golden_boots
His hair was wet, she realised. Had bringing her joy been such strain? Yet as her consciousness clambered out of its golden haze, she became aware of perspiration on her own brow, on her upper lip and between her breasts. This strain - it was something they had both felt. And it was good.
Lord Melbourne sat up and brought her knees together but did not break his touch. He rubbed the outside of her thighs as he looked down on her with a kindly expression. Nevertheless, with his tousled hair, shirt sweat-stained and pulled asunder, he reminded her of something quite different. “You look like an awful pirate,” she told him and giggled.
“Well,” he said and his face flickered as he adopted the new tone of the moment. “Was that to your taste, Ma’am?”
“Ahem,” she muttered as she wondered whether to dare what she would dare. “Was it to your taste, Lord M?” Then she put her hands over her face and laughed uproariously.
“Very much so.” He lay down beside her once more, bathing in her merriment.
When she had finished, she propped herself up on her elbow and looked into his beloved face. She brought up a hand and explored it in the same fashion she had before, except this time, she lingered over his glistening lips and cheeks. Victoria shook her head. “I never imagined a man would…” She met his frank green eyes and a word flashed through her mind; that indecent, exciting word he had told her was meant for him. William - he had a cock. She had not seen it but now she could not stop thinking about it. Perhaps it was hard as a stallion’s. Perhaps that was a ridiculous thought and men only became hard when they were about to penetrate a woman. Holding his attention with sparkling eyes, she moved her hand down from his face and along his body. Frills at the neckline; a brief encounter with the fur of his chest; undulating stomach muscles beneath the linen; the mysterious lumps that pushed out the front of his breeches. Tentative fingers danced over the bulge then gently cradled it.
Lord Melbourne grasped her wrist. “Victoria, you do not need to do that.”
“Call me Drina, please.”
“Drina -"
“I know I do not need to. I want to.” She sat up and pursued her exploration, pressing, tickling, even stroking the bulge with the backs of her fingers. She looked like some great child in her shapeless shift, all eyes and waterfall hair. “But I do not know what I am touching. A man’s anatomy is not entirely familiar to me.”
He blinked. “You understand he has a cock, yes? And that it becomes hard when he is aroused.”
“When he is about to indulge in amorous congress.”
“Not just then. It can happen any time. A thought alone can make his pole rise. It is wont to happen at the most inappropriate moments…”
She smiled shyly. “In truth?”
“Indeed. In the past, my own has risen simply because I was in your presence.”
She shook her head. “If only I had known.” Then her expression changed, strong brows coming together almost in annoyance. “I hear it said that a man’s member becomes hard but how does it become hard? I cannot fathom it.”
“It fills with blood, the way a person’s cheeks fill with blood when they feel bashful.”
“Oh,” she said, her cheeks doing that very thing. “Are you not afraid it will break?”
“Break?”
“If it is hard, could it not break?”
“No, my dear Drina.” He could not suppress a laugh. “It is unlikely to break. Though we term it ‘hard’, it still has some softness to it and it is flexible at the base to accommodate the movements of the loved one.”
“I see. And does it turn red, the way my ridiculous face has become red?”
“A little.” He reached up and cupped her chin. “The bulb in particular.”
“The bulb?”
“The tip of one’s cock. It becomes swollen and…” The last words were choked off. Lord Melbourne’s face turned stiff.
“Oh, William, whatever is the matter?”
He turned to her with a fire in his eyes she had not seen before. It did not project from them but burned deep within, drawing her in, the way the eyes of a leopard consume all who meet its gaze. Green fire, otherworldly fire. He said, “I want so much to take you. All this talk… I am as excited in my own way as you were. Please...” He hung his head - shielded her from the fire.
Victoria stared at the floor, shaking her head but when she lifted her face, there was the beginning of assent in her eyes.
“I know I must not. I must not.”
“Then show me how a man’s body works,” she beseeched, “the way you have shown me how a woman’s body works. Find some way to bring yourself release and allow me to be there.”
Lord Melbourne made a noise in the back of his throat and swallowed at the delicious, terrifying, longed-for prospect. “Very well.” He sat up on his heels and began to unbutton his breeches. He continued his instruction as he went. “And you are aware that beneath a man’s cock lie his bawbles. They contain his seed.”
Riveted, Victoria simply nodded.
“That this seed emerges when his excitement reaches its peak and passes into the woman.”
“How many seeds? Is it a different number for every man?”
His hand was inside now, grasping his shaft. He tugged on the waistband of his breeches until they lay halfway down his hips. “One cannot observe individual seeds. It is a fluid that emerges, a whitish fluid of viscous consistency. It is the visible sign of a man’s crisis. It does not come forth all in one gush but in spurts that are married to the spasms of pleasure he feels.”
“But that is what I felt! Spasms of pleasure! Are you saying that a man’s and a woman’s experience are the same?” Her face glowed with tremendous enthusiasm. “I felt a muscular tension that rose and rose, and there was a sense of moving towards something although I knew not what and then the note was struck, like the climax of a dramatic musical piece, soprano voices ringing out while the orchestra crashes and clashes around them, and my body was spasming along with that sensation you have just described, wave after wave of white-hot joy -”
It had lain at an angle inside his breeches. As Lord Melbourne pulled it out, it bounced before settling into a strong-angled stand, his white shirt draped on either side.
All was silence. Victoria shrank back. It looked so alien, starting up from a thatch of wiry, dark hair. It looked furious, as if it were coming for her, as if it would not take ‘no’ for an answer.
“Drina - I am still here. Look at me.”
She lifted her head, apprehension a sullen troll behind her eyes.
“It is merely a part of me. If you trust me, then you can trust that part of me, too.”
“It just seems so large.”
“I know. It is hard to believe it could fit inside a woman. But, believe me, it has had precisely the opposite effect on women from that which you picture now. Or so I have been told. I think of it as my pleasure-giver.” He pulled off his white shirt. There was an expanse of chest, broad shoulders, less chest hair than she might have imagined. An endless vista of olive skin. He looked quintessentially masculine. And vulnerable. A spear could pierce his flesh just as readily as it could a woman’s.
A warm smile that reached his eyes invited her approach and to consolidate the offer, he held out his hand.
She shuffled up and then they were face-to-face, sitting up on their knees, Victoria’s small hand enclosed in his. He lifted it, unfurled the fingers and placed it flat against his chest. A squeeze told her it was time to sally and she did, circling her palm against the firm yet giving flesh. An indulgent smile appeared on her lips, one she had only ever bestowed upon Florian or Dash.
“There is nothing to fear here,” he said as he moved her hand to a more intimate place, “nothing at all.” He pressed her fingers around the shaft. “Does it feel warm?”
“Yes.”
“Does it feel soft? Harder deep inside, yes, but yielding on top?”
“Oh, yes.”
Forehead to forehead, they both looked down in wonder. “Look,” said Lord Melbourne, “you have already excited me. A bead of bliss has appeared at the tip.” He smeared the fluid around the head with a delicate touch.
“Oh - it twitched!”
“What did I tell you?”
She voiced a small throb of laughter. “It feels a little like self-heal.”
“Self-heal?” He shook his head.
“It is a wild plant. It has a fleshy stem with purple flowers and it grows in some of the lawns here at Buckingham. I always stoop to press it between my fingers. It is delightfully squidgy.”
“Would you care to - squidge? - me?”
She gave him a luxuriating squeeze.
“My darling…” Lord Melbourne placed his hand beside hers. “Shall I show you what comes next? Will you forgive me the sin of Onan?”
Her smile was wry and one-sided.
“You see this here? This is the prepuce. It moves when I move my hand. When my cock is at rest, it covers the bulb and protects it. This is the part Jews remove so their members always look like this.” He pulled the foreskin all the way back, allowing her to see the head fully.
“Well, now it looks like a mushroom.”
“Yes, that is commonly said. The bulb is very sensitive. Only the gentlest touch should be used there and it preferable for it to be moist.”
“How does one make it moist?”
“Sometimes it provides its own moisture and sometimes…” Lord Melbourne raised his hand to his mouth and licked the palm discreetly before returning it to his member and smoothing it over the head in a polishing motion.
“May I?” Victoria’s hand moved up from his shaft and closed over the end. She rolled it in her palm, holding it just tightly enough to feel the pulse in it then used the tips of her fingers to trace the ridge.
A high-pitched sound. She blinked. It was too shrill, surely, to have come from her sober Prime Minister. But, in faith, it had! An exquisite touch had elicited an exquisite response. “So silky,” she mused. “Why, men are much softer than I imagined they would be.”
He took her hand again and moved it farther down, below his shaft. “And here now, what do you feel?”
“Two round structures. This is where your seed resides.” She clutched them lightly. “But they are not separate - they are together in a sack of skin.”
“That is true. The sack keeps them safe. Ensures I do not accidentally leave one behind when I leave the house.”
Victoria giggled, her dark hair falling forwards on either side of her face.
“Be careful there, too.”
“Oh dear, you poor men! It seems we women must be gentle with you everywhere!”
“Men are far more sensitive than you might think, in all manner of ways. However, if you touch me there - yes, there, upon the shaft - you may be a little more vigorous.” He took his cock mid-way along in a firm grip, waited for her to settle graceful fingers over his and slowly began to pull. “See how the skin moves. I take it right up to the ridge of the bulb.”
His little lover’s head moved this way and that, observing his pleasure from a variety of angles.
“My hand moves away from the body, all the pressure being applied on the upstroke. It is getting even harder now. See how the bulb swells…”
“And this is how a man brings himself to his crisis?”
“Yes. You may have heard it called ‘fetching mettle’.”
“And how does the seed emerge?”
“From that small slit in the end just there.”
“Oh, William!” she cried in a sudden passion. “I must see all of you!” Her hands came up to his chest and pushed him down until he found himself lying exactly where she had lain not so long before. Her eyes roamed his body. “Is all this playground mine to enjoy?” she said as she bowed over him. She ran a hand up the inside of one tightly-clad thigh, around his erect member and up his stomach to his chest. As she felt him attempt to rise, she applied the slightest pressure and was delighted when he succumbed to her command, notwithstanding both of them knew he could easily overpower her if he wished. The power of his chest was manifest in the rise and fall of his breath. Such a cavern lay beneath this veneer of flesh, resounding with the utterances of a thousand priests and men of war. Men were a juxtaposition. They were the humble servants of the whims of one’s flesh and the shark that destroys with one bite.
Victoria watched.
He began to relax into the touch both of them now lavished on his upright pole, head falling back, eyes closing. For a while, his face tilted towards the fire and the little queen became captivated by the line of a certain tendon in his neck. It was beautifully arched, subtly strained, the incarnation of the body’s strive for pleasure. Every now and then, his stomach muscles clenched and he pushed his hips upwards. This was often accompanied by a guttural sound. At one point, he brought his other hand down to his groin and cradled his sack, lifting it and warming it. Inspired, Victoria rubbed along his thigh, letting her fingers slide up to the depression where his thigh met his hip. The fur there felt velvety, pleasant to the touch.
His head rolled back in line with his body. There was perspiration now, and his chest and cheeks were flushed. Hooded eyes opened and looked at her along the landscape of his body. His face, usually so serious, was rapt with pleasure - not just the pleasure of the flesh but of the pride he took in her. “Dear, sweet, innocent Drina,” he gasped, “cherub sent from Heaven to test and reward me, my agony of bliss is near. You must steel yourself. Some women are disgusted by the spurt of a man’s seed. Others react badly simply because they are surprised. I do not want you to be disturbed by what you see. If you wish, turn away now.”
“No!” Her face was earnest. “I want to see you in your joy. I am afraid of nothing any longer.”
“Oh my love, my love,” he repeated. “I shall direct it towards myself so none of it falls upon you.” With that, he began to move his fist up and down to a furious beat. Victoria struggled to hold on, fearing her arm would be torn off at the shoulder by the violent movements. His cock looked swollen, felt thick in her grasp. His knees came up; she moved around so she sat not beside him but between his legs. She was surprised to note his ballocks moving of their own accord, occasionally tightening as some superlative stroke had him leaping closer to his goal.
But it was his face she was most intrigued by. For an instant, he flashed her a look she had never imagined she would see on the face of her unflappable Prime Minister: like that of a prisoner pleading for mercy from a brutal prison guard. Then he bit his bottom lip and began to breathe heavily through his nose. His entire upper body was a portrait of terrific strain with its red-flushed skin and corded tendons. He grunted and then he spoke, voice hoarse, “Yes - yes, there it is, my gush, my pearly shower.” He pulled his cockstand towards himself and right out of Victoria’s grip. Her mouth fell open as she watched it pulse with the seed rising from his sack. Then - huzzah! - something erupted from the tip.
Victoria shrieked and leant back on her hands but Lord Melbourne had kept his promise. The ropes of seed arced down onto him; creamy, glutinous strings that splashed onto his stomach and dripped down his sides or turned into precious gems caught in the hair of his chest.
She laughed. Laughed at her own surprise like a spectator at a firework display. She craned her neck forwards to get a better look. “Incredible.” She shook her head yet her smile was broad.
The touch of annoyance he felt at her reaction was lost in the mellowness of his comedown. He continued to rub himself, urging out the final spurts before permitting himself to surrender to insensibility, at least for a moment or two.
“Did you feel it coming out?”
“What was that, dearheart?” He looked at her with bleary, contented eyes.
“The seed. Could you feel it emerging? Is the gushing outwards a part of the pleasure itself?”
His eyebrows flicked. “I suppose so, yes.”
“Strange. For me, it felt like a pulling inwards.”
“I see. Well, that may be because you are a woman and I am a man, as we have recently established.”
Victoria chuckled. A mischievous look came over her and she darted forward to kiss Lord Melbourne’s spent cock where it lay on his thigh.
Delighted, he rolled his head from side to side. “Ah, if I were ten years younger, I would twitch for you again.”
Further emboldened, she reached out a hand to touch a bead of joy caught in his thatch.
“No.” He pushed her hand away. “You must not touch it. If you were to touch it and then touch your flower, you might fall foul of me.” He began to wipe himself down with his shirt.
Victoria looked sheepish. She went to the pitcher and basin, and washed her hands. And while her back was turned, she conceived the peculiar notion that none of it had happened. Surely it was not possible that her beloved Prime Minister was there in her bedroom, that they had engaged in amorous congress, that both had paraded their rapture with such lack of inhibition? Yet when she turned back to the hearth, there he was. He had shed his boots and breeches (at last), and lay stretched out upon the rug, dark and wolfish. And beckoning. Victoria ran to the naked wildman who had taken over her bedroom, her childhood, her heart.
Wrapped in his arms, she felt at peace at last. She laid her head upon his bosom.
He rocked her and stroked her back. “Are you still afraid of tomorrow?”
She had known this question would come. She twisted her fingers in the hair at the base of his throat. “Let us not talk of that.”
“We must, Drina. It is the whole point of tonight. I need to know if you now believe it is possible to experience pleasure in the bedchamber.”
“You know I do!”
“Then you must trust that your Albert will be able to do for you what I have done. He will be the one who deflowers you.”
“There are many firsts in a woman’s life,” she mused, “and she forgets none of them.”
“I should hope not.” He pulled her close and kissed her cheek.
They lay like that for some time, the barely-a-woman-queen with the huge eyes and the naked man, fully potent and full of tenderness. Then Victoria said, “Will you promise me just one thing?”