Lady Anne's Pleasure
Title: Lady Anne's Pleasure
Characters: Richard Sharpe, Anne Camoynes
Rating: Mature, Heterosexual Fiction
Length: 1700 words
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan-fiction created for entertainment. It is not the intention of the author to infringe on anyone’s copyright. i.e. There’s this phrase “Property of Bernard Cornwell” tattooed on Sharpe’s luscious rear. I’m just borrowing it.
Setting: Battalion Headquarters, Sharpe's Regiment - before he leaves England
Author’s Note: Written for a friend who wanted to read something with Sharpe and Lady Anne Camoynes
~~~
“So this is where you are hiding yourself, Richard.” She said, sweeping into the room he had claimed for his office.
Sharpe came to his feet, surprised that she had sought him out at the barracks. Placing the rifle he had been cleaning on his desk, he began buttoning his open jacket.
“Lady Anne.” He acknowledged. “Hardly hiding, m'lady.”
“Oh la, Richard, you do not have to stand on ceremony with me.” She smiled. “I merely came to see the man in his natural habitat.”
Sharpe grinned. She was a surprise each and every time he saw her. He wondered what she wanted. Or maybe he need not wonder, for she had taken a turn around the room while removing her bonnet and gloves and now stood in front of him, running her slender fingers down his chest.
He winked at her. “And do you like what you see?”
“Indeed I do. How long do you remain in England, Major?”
Hmmm... it was major now?
“Until Horse Guards get their paperwork together with renaming the South Essex as the Prince of Wales's Own Volunteers.” He responded. Indeed, he was responding just a little too quickly to her stroking fingers.
She moved away to look out the window onto the bare parade square and he felt a little bereft. She’d see nothing since he'd dismissed the men during the somnolent heat of the day. Most were resting or sleeping. Indeed he had been thinking on catching forty winks himself. She turned and looked at him.
“You owe me a favor, Richard.”
“Do I?” He asked. Half in challenge. What she had accomplished had benefited her as well.
“Do you not? I didn't come to claim it today though. Merely to ascertain that I have one, should I choose to exercise it.”
He nodded, giving her that. She had rescued him after all and she had not needed to. She rewarded him with a half smile, walked back to his desk and laid a hand on the rifle.
“So, this is the much vaunted rifle.” She said, touching the weapon.
“It is.”
She stroked her fingers down the stock and the barrel.
“Fascinating.”
“Is it?”
“Indeed it is. More accurate to fire, I understand?”
“Aye. You may stand as close as a hundred yards and be confident that you would not be hit by the ball of a musket pointed at you, but not with the Rifle. You are not safe even at three hundred yards. The best shot in my Regiment can hit his target at five hundred.”
She was still stroking the rifle carelessly and he found himself watching her hand, helplessly fascinated, his body responding to the deliberate provocation. He cleared his throat.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Anne?”
She smiled then. A little cat smile.
“You might, Richard.”
“You only have to ask it, m'lady.”
She laughed. It was a gay, happy sound.
“Oh, Richard,” she purred as she approached him again, laid warm fingers on the bare flesh of his chest. He really should have buttoned up. He thought.
“I've always preferred the less hirsute man.”
Sharpe swallowed.
“Hirsute?” He asked, his vocabulary not extending to the word.
“Mmm...” she was stroking his chest with those warm fingers. Much as she had stroked the rifle. “Hairy.”
She leaned close and laid her lips on his neck. Oh, God... Sharpe thought as his body leaped in response.
“I locked the door as I came in.” She whispered between soft bites of his neck and shoulders, stirring him even further.
“Anne... uh.. m'lady...” He was remembering why he shouldn't be allowing this. “Marm... uh... I am to be married.”
She chuckled. A warm breath that tickled his senses. “So it only matters if you are to be married but not if the lady is married or not?”
“Yes!” She was not only nibbling on his neck, one hand was straying farther and farther downward. “Uhh... I mean... No. Um.. I mean... Jesus!” This last as her hand cupped his hard shaft through his trousers.
He had brought up his hands, ostensibly to fend her off, but they seemed to have a mind of their own as they cupped her sumptuous breasts, remembering the shape and feel of them. His lips had found hers and their tongues played in a sensuous dance. His hands were tugging at her clothes when she brought up her hands and pushing on his chest, broke free. He held her, unwilling to let her go. She was breathing as heavily as he was but she smiled at the confusion in his face and touched his cheek gently.
“Richard, this isn’t night at Vauxhall Gardens where I can sneak off to my carriage under my cloak with my skirts crushed and my bodice torn.”
He looked horrified. “I tore your dress? I… I’m sorry Anne.”
At the look on his face, she smiled her little cat smile again. She stepped back and he let his hands drop. He watched her, wondering what she would do next, forgetting entirely that he should be keeping himself for another. She unbuttoned her travelling jacket and removed it. Then turned her attention to the shirt beneath, revealing a sheer chemise that veiled but did not hide the erect nipples on her breasts.
“Would you like to do the honors, Richard?”
With hands that shook slightly, Sharpe tugged at the ribbons that held the neckline of her chemise. She was only wearing light stays that served to prop up her breasts rather than hide them. Peeling the material from her breasts, he palmed her bare flesh before falling on them and burying his face in them, kissing and licking them, breathing the faint smell of Lily of the Valley and the scent that was uniquely hers. She smiled and moaned with pleasure as he suckled on her nipples, spearing her fingers in his hair, gasping as he suckled on her, sending pleasure stabbing into her loins. “Ahh… Richard…”
She was pressing him away again and he yielded, reluctantly moving away from his feast, smiling smugly as he looked at her. She laughed softly. “Pleased with yourself, are you?”
“Aye,” he grinned. “Aren’t you too?”
She slid her hands down his loins again, making him gasp. “I think someone wants a little attention.”
Sharpe grinned. “Sharpie? Aye, he does.”
Nimbly, she picked open the front fall of his trousers.
“Aaahh… Anne…” he moaned as her warm hands curled about him.
Her hands stroking him, she turned up her face and offered her lips. He slid his hands around her head and fell on them urgently, trying to please her as she was pleasing him. Too soon, he tore his lips from hers.
“Anne… Anne… yer goin’ ter make me… Ahhh…”
She squeezed him hard and he shuddered, his body slowing down. Damn, but she knew what a man’s body was about. He was still breathing heavily, but his body had slowed. She released him, but before he could protest, she had turned around and faced the desk.
“I’m going to put my hands on the desk, Richard.”
What was she about now? She bent over and put her hands on the desk, then cast a look at him over her shoulder. Her eyes full of smoldering promise as she slowly enunciated each word that followed.
“Just. Like. This.”
He felt the heat in his body ratchet up again. Stepping up between her legs, he lifted her skirt and petticoats until he found the skin of her legs with his hands. Sliding the soft heavy materials up to her waist carefully, he folded them back so as not to crush them and smoothed his hands over the firm mounds of her derriere.
“Yer’ a wicked woman, Anne.” He said huskily. “Perfectly wicked.”
“You like it.” She replied. He could practically see her little cat smile in his mind’s eye. With his hands on her hips, he shifted her. Spread her feet further with his. Stepped closer until his jutting erection was stroking the wet heat of her arousal. He moved, enjoying the sensation, the tip of his cock parting the wet folds of her pussy and sliding over the smooth pearl of her sex. She moaned softly. Bending over her, he nuzzled her neck. Enjoying the shivers he elicited with each nibble of his lips. He was getting really hot again.
“May I?” He rasped, his cock sliding ever so slightly in.
“Yes. Please!”
With a triumphant grin, he slid home. Closing his eyes as he savored the feel of himself filling her tight sheath, he began to thrust, slowly. Ahhh… she felt so good. Having set his mount, he slid his hands upwards and filled them with her breasts. She cried out from the pleasure.
“Ahhh, m’lady Anne. You do like this.”
“Yes… yes… oh Richard!”
“How shall I ride you, Anne?”
“Hard, Richard. Ride me hard. Like you did at Vauxhall.”
He thrust harder. The smooth friction, the slap of his balls against her, her nipples boring holes in his palms spiraled him upwards to his climax. She liked it hard. Liked to scratch and bite… he reciprocated with what control left in him. Bit down on her neck gently. Pinched her nipples and she came. Spent her pleasure all around him. Crying out her delight in gasps and screams as shudder after shudder racked her body with pleasure. Before he knew it, he was spending himself within her. His cries of pleasure mingling with hers as he spilled his seed within her, jerking hard against her as she milked him dry.
~~~
It was a pity, Anne Carmoynes reflected in the privacy of her carriage as it bowled along the avenue. He would be wasted on the Simmerson gel. A chit barely out of the schoolroom, with no prospects, breeding nor money. She looked well enough, if one liked the insipid beauty of the young English girl. Men would be men. She sighed. They would marry the chits with more hair then sense and young enough to train in bed. He had sixteen years or more on the chit. Then she snorted. Wasn’t she the same twenty years ago when she married? She was thirty-eight now. Possibly older than Sharpe. She sighed again. He was a first for her. The first man she had bedded for herself since her husband died. She would miss him.
.
Characters: Richard Sharpe, Anne Camoynes
Rating: Mature, Heterosexual Fiction
Length: 1700 words
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan-fiction created for entertainment. It is not the intention of the author to infringe on anyone’s copyright. i.e. There’s this phrase “Property of Bernard Cornwell” tattooed on Sharpe’s luscious rear. I’m just borrowing it.
Setting: Battalion Headquarters, Sharpe's Regiment - before he leaves England
Author’s Note: Written for a friend who wanted to read something with Sharpe and Lady Anne Camoynes
~~~
“So this is where you are hiding yourself, Richard.” She said, sweeping into the room he had claimed for his office.
Sharpe came to his feet, surprised that she had sought him out at the barracks. Placing the rifle he had been cleaning on his desk, he began buttoning his open jacket.
“Lady Anne.” He acknowledged. “Hardly hiding, m'lady.”
“Oh la, Richard, you do not have to stand on ceremony with me.” She smiled. “I merely came to see the man in his natural habitat.”
Sharpe grinned. She was a surprise each and every time he saw her. He wondered what she wanted. Or maybe he need not wonder, for she had taken a turn around the room while removing her bonnet and gloves and now stood in front of him, running her slender fingers down his chest.
He winked at her. “And do you like what you see?”
“Indeed I do. How long do you remain in England, Major?”
Hmmm... it was major now?
“Until Horse Guards get their paperwork together with renaming the South Essex as the Prince of Wales's Own Volunteers.” He responded. Indeed, he was responding just a little too quickly to her stroking fingers.
She moved away to look out the window onto the bare parade square and he felt a little bereft. She’d see nothing since he'd dismissed the men during the somnolent heat of the day. Most were resting or sleeping. Indeed he had been thinking on catching forty winks himself. She turned and looked at him.
“You owe me a favor, Richard.”
“Do I?” He asked. Half in challenge. What she had accomplished had benefited her as well.
“Do you not? I didn't come to claim it today though. Merely to ascertain that I have one, should I choose to exercise it.”
He nodded, giving her that. She had rescued him after all and she had not needed to. She rewarded him with a half smile, walked back to his desk and laid a hand on the rifle.
“So, this is the much vaunted rifle.” She said, touching the weapon.
“It is.”
She stroked her fingers down the stock and the barrel.
“Fascinating.”
“Is it?”
“Indeed it is. More accurate to fire, I understand?”
“Aye. You may stand as close as a hundred yards and be confident that you would not be hit by the ball of a musket pointed at you, but not with the Rifle. You are not safe even at three hundred yards. The best shot in my Regiment can hit his target at five hundred.”
She was still stroking the rifle carelessly and he found himself watching her hand, helplessly fascinated, his body responding to the deliberate provocation. He cleared his throat.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Anne?”
She smiled then. A little cat smile.
“You might, Richard.”
“You only have to ask it, m'lady.”
She laughed. It was a gay, happy sound.
“Oh, Richard,” she purred as she approached him again, laid warm fingers on the bare flesh of his chest. He really should have buttoned up. He thought.
“I've always preferred the less hirsute man.”
Sharpe swallowed.
“Hirsute?” He asked, his vocabulary not extending to the word.
“Mmm...” she was stroking his chest with those warm fingers. Much as she had stroked the rifle. “Hairy.”
She leaned close and laid her lips on his neck. Oh, God... Sharpe thought as his body leaped in response.
“I locked the door as I came in.” She whispered between soft bites of his neck and shoulders, stirring him even further.
“Anne... uh.. m'lady...” He was remembering why he shouldn't be allowing this. “Marm... uh... I am to be married.”
She chuckled. A warm breath that tickled his senses. “So it only matters if you are to be married but not if the lady is married or not?”
“Yes!” She was not only nibbling on his neck, one hand was straying farther and farther downward. “Uhh... I mean... No. Um.. I mean... Jesus!” This last as her hand cupped his hard shaft through his trousers.
He had brought up his hands, ostensibly to fend her off, but they seemed to have a mind of their own as they cupped her sumptuous breasts, remembering the shape and feel of them. His lips had found hers and their tongues played in a sensuous dance. His hands were tugging at her clothes when she brought up her hands and pushing on his chest, broke free. He held her, unwilling to let her go. She was breathing as heavily as he was but she smiled at the confusion in his face and touched his cheek gently.
“Richard, this isn’t night at Vauxhall Gardens where I can sneak off to my carriage under my cloak with my skirts crushed and my bodice torn.”
He looked horrified. “I tore your dress? I… I’m sorry Anne.”
At the look on his face, she smiled her little cat smile again. She stepped back and he let his hands drop. He watched her, wondering what she would do next, forgetting entirely that he should be keeping himself for another. She unbuttoned her travelling jacket and removed it. Then turned her attention to the shirt beneath, revealing a sheer chemise that veiled but did not hide the erect nipples on her breasts.
“Would you like to do the honors, Richard?”
With hands that shook slightly, Sharpe tugged at the ribbons that held the neckline of her chemise. She was only wearing light stays that served to prop up her breasts rather than hide them. Peeling the material from her breasts, he palmed her bare flesh before falling on them and burying his face in them, kissing and licking them, breathing the faint smell of Lily of the Valley and the scent that was uniquely hers. She smiled and moaned with pleasure as he suckled on her nipples, spearing her fingers in his hair, gasping as he suckled on her, sending pleasure stabbing into her loins. “Ahh… Richard…”
She was pressing him away again and he yielded, reluctantly moving away from his feast, smiling smugly as he looked at her. She laughed softly. “Pleased with yourself, are you?”
“Aye,” he grinned. “Aren’t you too?”
She slid her hands down his loins again, making him gasp. “I think someone wants a little attention.”
Sharpe grinned. “Sharpie? Aye, he does.”
Nimbly, she picked open the front fall of his trousers.
“Aaahh… Anne…” he moaned as her warm hands curled about him.
Her hands stroking him, she turned up her face and offered her lips. He slid his hands around her head and fell on them urgently, trying to please her as she was pleasing him. Too soon, he tore his lips from hers.
“Anne… Anne… yer goin’ ter make me… Ahhh…”
She squeezed him hard and he shuddered, his body slowing down. Damn, but she knew what a man’s body was about. He was still breathing heavily, but his body had slowed. She released him, but before he could protest, she had turned around and faced the desk.
“I’m going to put my hands on the desk, Richard.”
What was she about now? She bent over and put her hands on the desk, then cast a look at him over her shoulder. Her eyes full of smoldering promise as she slowly enunciated each word that followed.
“Just. Like. This.”
He felt the heat in his body ratchet up again. Stepping up between her legs, he lifted her skirt and petticoats until he found the skin of her legs with his hands. Sliding the soft heavy materials up to her waist carefully, he folded them back so as not to crush them and smoothed his hands over the firm mounds of her derriere.
“Yer’ a wicked woman, Anne.” He said huskily. “Perfectly wicked.”
“You like it.” She replied. He could practically see her little cat smile in his mind’s eye. With his hands on her hips, he shifted her. Spread her feet further with his. Stepped closer until his jutting erection was stroking the wet heat of her arousal. He moved, enjoying the sensation, the tip of his cock parting the wet folds of her pussy and sliding over the smooth pearl of her sex. She moaned softly. Bending over her, he nuzzled her neck. Enjoying the shivers he elicited with each nibble of his lips. He was getting really hot again.
“May I?” He rasped, his cock sliding ever so slightly in.
“Yes. Please!”
With a triumphant grin, he slid home. Closing his eyes as he savored the feel of himself filling her tight sheath, he began to thrust, slowly. Ahhh… she felt so good. Having set his mount, he slid his hands upwards and filled them with her breasts. She cried out from the pleasure.
“Ahhh, m’lady Anne. You do like this.”
“Yes… yes… oh Richard!”
“How shall I ride you, Anne?”
“Hard, Richard. Ride me hard. Like you did at Vauxhall.”
He thrust harder. The smooth friction, the slap of his balls against her, her nipples boring holes in his palms spiraled him upwards to his climax. She liked it hard. Liked to scratch and bite… he reciprocated with what control left in him. Bit down on her neck gently. Pinched her nipples and she came. Spent her pleasure all around him. Crying out her delight in gasps and screams as shudder after shudder racked her body with pleasure. Before he knew it, he was spending himself within her. His cries of pleasure mingling with hers as he spilled his seed within her, jerking hard against her as she milked him dry.
~~~
It was a pity, Anne Carmoynes reflected in the privacy of her carriage as it bowled along the avenue. He would be wasted on the Simmerson gel. A chit barely out of the schoolroom, with no prospects, breeding nor money. She looked well enough, if one liked the insipid beauty of the young English girl. Men would be men. She sighed. They would marry the chits with more hair then sense and young enough to train in bed. He had sixteen years or more on the chit. Then she snorted. Wasn’t she the same twenty years ago when she married? She was thirty-eight now. Possibly older than Sharpe. She sighed again. He was a first for her. The first man she had bedded for herself since her husband died. She would miss him.
.