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The Medium

A broke Lydia needs to talk to her husband, so she calls upon a medium for help.
Lady Lydia Hoyt-Moore stifled a sigh and fanned herself with the program from her friend's musical. Lord, how I hate these insipid gatherings, she thought and adjusted her skirts. She smiled over at Dowager Meredith Rawlings, the matriarch responsible for those putting on this despicable show.

The term friend was loosely bandied around; hardly anyone had any true friends. They were all 'friends', or public acquaintances. Such vapid little people held no interest whatsoever for Lydia, never mind their silly little productions that they put on to impress each other.

With her fan fluttering small curls of hair against the nape of her neck, Lydia looked back from the stage to watch the men bending and twisting as they set the props in place.  My, but they do make peasants attractive these days…. She shook her head and glanced over at the Dowager.

Meredith was looking at her expectantly, and Lydia realized she was supposed to react to something the Dowager had said. "I'm sorry, Lady, it's a trifle stuffy in here, and I'm afraid I missed that."

The dowager patted Lydia's hand, and smiled. A bit too much for it to be genuine, Lydia thought. "Oh, my dear, it's perfectly all right. We all have those moments at one time or another." She puffed up pretensiously, and leaned in as if what was about to be said was quite for Lydia's ears only. "I've found out my husband's secrets!"

Lydia leaned back, a slight look of surprise on her pretty face. "But, Dowager .... Hasn't Lord Rawlings been dead nigh on six years now?" She frowned slightly, and pushed back a long streak of silver-laced black hair, nearly dropping her reticule on the floor.

The old crone's finally gone batty enough to believe she can see the dead! Won't Lucinda and Olivia love this tantalizing bit of gossip!

The fan moved a bit closer, a tad faster now, gently rolling Lydia's dark curls back and forth, and Meredith waved a hand, clucking her tongue against her teeth.

"Pish-posh, my dear girl, that makes no point at all!" She laughed shrilly, and Lydia fought turning red.

Everyone in this room now knows that I've said something absurd ... which, of course, I haven't!

"My dear Lord Rawlings, beloved Lloyd, spoke to me through a medium!"

Oh, lord ... not a medium! The old dowager has lost her wits. Mediums are nothing but conniving little twits with nothing better to do than lie to desperate old women. Lydia twitched her skirts, and began preparing her excuses to take her leave of the crazy old woman.

"Mmhmm, that Lloyd was a sneaky one!" Meredith said firmly. "And I now have proof that he was out catting around on me!"

One moment, I smell a nice nibble here ...

"Yes, yes, I knew. All those years, I knew. He could have told me the truth, but chose to not-so-carefully sneak around with those little whores of his."

Not only demented, but a guttermouth as well!

"He has, Good Lord forgive me, bastards by these whores! Four by-blows! Can you imagine!"

I can, indeed. Mine has two. I knew when I didn't get with child in the first two years.... Ah, but that is neither here nor there. Back to the Dotty Dowager. Lydia bit her lip, and patted the woman's hand. "So, what else did you find out?"

"Find out? Find out! As if discovering my dear, departed husband has fathered children with those - those ... women.... Isn't that enough? The medium, speaking to my husband, gave me the names of these women, and where to find the proof of his little 'indiscretions' as Lloyd put them."

Lydia pulled up short. Real proof, hidden in the house? And never visited by this medium? She fidgeted with her reticule, thinking about her recent problems at the house.

I have grown low on money. And that damnable Andrew never denied hiding some of the money he got from his little ventures.

"So it was true, then?" Lydia pressed lightly. "And this man ... this medium, was correct in what he told you - what he got from your husband?" At Meredith's quick nod, Lydia leaned in closely, so as not to be overheard. "Would he by any chance be free to speak to mine?"

The Dowager's eyes popped open wide. "My dear girl, you think Andrew catted around on you?"

Oh, for Heaven's sake….

"No, no, Dowager." Lydia shook her head. "I just miss him so.... Maybe this medium of yours could contact my darling Andrew for a time. It's not been a year, and we were married for twenty years."

There! Yes, dab at the corner of your eye, she'll fall for that! The old woman was always one to fall for tears.

"Oh, Lydia!" The older woman whipped out a handkerchief of her own, and dabbed at her own face. "I'll tell you what, two o'clock tomorrow, clear your appointments. I'll give him your card, and have him come over for an appointment."

* * * * * * *

The bell sounded, and Zechariah, the Hoyt-Moore's butler for more than fifteen years, strode to answer it. He blinked slowly at the man on the steps, slightly surprised to see someone calling on Her Ladyship. She wasn’t one for visitors, let alone gentleman callers.

"Can I help you, sir?" His question was stiff, and he moved himself to block his entry in case the man had arrived uninvited as the tall stranger fished in his front pocket, and withdrew a very slightly crumpled card.

"Yes, yes, you can, my good man! I've an appointment with the Lady of the house.... A Lady Lydia Hoyt-Moore is in, I was told." He smoothed back his unruly black hair, and his green eyes moved over the butler in an easy manner. His smile was slow and charming, even to the fellows, and he adjusted his black cravat with one hand as he motioned toward the house.

"Ah, the Lady's two o'clock, I presume?" Zechariah moved aside a bit reluctantly, having completely forgotten the appointment. The Lady rarely brought anyone to her home, so his mental misstep was one he felt would have been forgiven. She had always been more forgiving than old Lord Hoyt-Moore. He didn't like the look of the man, though. Despite his charming demeanor and ready smile, Zechariah surmised that he had a hefty dose of the devil in him.

"Do come in, and I'll show you to the library, and alert the Lady to your arrival." He moved stiffly down the hall and swung open the double doors, inviting the man to make himself comfortable. Leaving one door ajar, Zechariah slowly made his way upstairs, casting a dubious eye on the doorway.

~ ~ ~

An overlong sette was pushed against a wall decorated with paintings of the former lords of the manor, and an especially large one of the recently departed Andrew Hoyt-Moore hung over the fireplace. The room was bright with sunlight, and the man ran a hand over the back of an antique chair near a low-slung table set with a crystal decanter of brandy. With a chuckle, he idly speculated that the bygone lord must have had quite a head on his shoulders to commission such an overly-large ducal portrait.

The medium, a one Jeremiah Dunn, looked around the room again and walked over to the fireplace, sitting down in one of the chairs that sat on either side of the man-size opening, and stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle. Why not wait for Her Ladyship in relative comfort? His thought was fleeting, and he looked longingly at the brandy waiting invitingly in its container.

His keen ears picked up the sound of swishing skirts, and the Lady of the house strolled in.

~ ~ ~

My, he's a handsome devil. Far too handsome, really.

Jeremiah noticed how she straightened her skirts, and his eyes tarried on the wide expanse of bosom that the low-cut rose dress offered. He moved, and stood to bow as he accepted her hand, his lips brushing the backs of her fingers.

“Jeremiah Dunn, at your service, m’lady.” He straightened, fingers releasing hers as he took a step back, and then arched a brow.

"Would you like me to contact him now, Lady?" Jeremiah smiled again, taking a seat after the Lady made herself more comfortable on the chair across from him.

"And you are so sure the person I wish to make contact with is a he, Mister Dunn?" What an affront! For all he knows, I'm contacting the spirit of my dear, recently departed mother, or wanting grief to be laid to rest at the passing of a child.

Lydia said her piece bluntly, whipping her fan from her reticule and snapping it open in one smooth move.

"Well, Lady Hoyt-Moore, it is just a lucky guess, I imagine." He looked up and smiled while staring into her eyes; like so many women before her, she melted under the heat of his piercing emerald gaze.

"It could be your mother, or an aunt or even a child." His eyes roamed over her more freely, taking in the black she wore: the reticule, the fan, the band tied about her wrist; even the roses in her hair had been dyed a shocking dark color to signify mourning. "You are wearing a lot of black, and so much black is generally accredited to the loss of one's spouse."

What an astute observation. The fan moved a bit faster. And delivered by such a confounding cad!

She smothered a soft chuckle and looked to the medium. "I do wish to contact my departed husband, Mister Dunn." Sighing softly, she lowered the silk fan, leaving him an unobstructed view of her rosy bosom.

"You see, he and I were quite close, and married for nearly twenty years. It - it's just been so hard since he passed.... " She faltered and let the words hang, not wanting to overplay the part of the bereaved widow.

I honestly didn't give a care if the rat hung, so long as he left me alone, and paid my allowances each month. She knew her opinions weren’t that far from those of most of the wives in the Ton, but a lady never voiced her opinions to such an extent, not even to her closest companions. To share that thought with this peasant, no matter how expensively attired, just wouldn’t do.

"Well, if you have the time now, my Lady, we can have the seance and you can contact him, and I shall go." Jeremiah shifted, stood, and walked over to a candle, lighting a thin cheroot after looking quietly to her for permission.

Lydia stood, and flicked her skirts as she walked toward the door. "Talk to Zechariah, Mister Dunn, I have other appointments. Tell him that I’d prefer you to come back later this week, Friday say, and we can conduct this ... seance then."

And with a flutter of silk, she was gone.

~ ~ ~

The curtains were drawn, the doors shut, and candles lit about the room. It was Friday, and all of the important parties were there; all, that is, save the conniving spirit of Andrew.

Lydia Hoyt-Moore sat on a chair pulled next to the small round table beside the bookcases dressed in a modest, but alluring gown of grey silk, the sides of her hair pulled back in black and grey silk ribbons, leaving the streaked black curls to hang to her waist.

Jeremiah Dunn sat diagonally from her, dressed in a conservatively cut black suit, his cravat a deep emerald green that matched his eyes.

The two held hands in the hushed quiet, and their heads were lowered, focused on the small miniature of Andrew that sat on the center of the table.

" ... We ask that Andrew Hollingsworth Hoyt-Moore please contact us, so that we might speak with him, and be freed from guilt." Jeremiah said softly, over and over until the table shook lightly.

Lydia jerked, and would have released his hand had he not held hers in a firm grip. At a quick look, her voice melded with him as he’d directed it should in the beginning of the preceedings.

"We wish to speak to you, Andrew. Assauge our doubts and fears that you are here." Jeremiah's voice fell away, leaving her to speak the last words. "It is I, Andrew, darling, your wife, Lydia Margaret Webster Hoyt-Moore."

The candles on the table flared brightly, and Jeremiah's head shot up, and a gravelly voice issued forth. "What in blazes do you want, shrew?"

By all that is true and holy...!

"Andrew, is that you?" Her voice was tentative.

"Who in blue blazes else could it be, woman? One of your many lovers?"

Oh, I never! "Don't say such a horrid thing, you awful man! You know I was true to you!" Oh, lawd, she was talking to a dead man through a living vessel! If her friends ever got wind of this….

"You going to prove it, shrew?"

Oh, this is definitely that awful husband of mine! Well, he's got another think coming!

"I can't and you know it!" She huffed and shifted, her skirts rustling in the quiet. "The medium will know, and your reputation as a 'good man' is ripped to shreds! I'm poor as it is - I won't be ostracized for your perverse actions!"

The grip on her hand tightened, and she tried to jerk away, but he was quicker. Her arm was pulled behind her, and she was pulled to her feet.

The rat! The damned heathen is forcing that poor man to abuse me.

She was pressed against the wall, one arm against her waist, the other pulled behind her back. She felt his hand spanning her waist, moving up to roughly squeeze and knead her breast, and she squirmed at the contact.

Disgust! It has to be disgust ...The only other option is arousal and I cannot be aroused by such man-handling! I did not miss his touch .. I abh--

The thought was cut off as she felt his erection against her ass, unmistakably large and rocking against her. She squirmed, and gasped as her breasts were bared, the ripping of the gentle grey silk loud in the quiet library. He roughly pinched her nipples, rolling them in his fingers, and she quaked as heat rushed through her, and she grew moist between her legs.

No, I can’t possibly be enjoying his cruel treatment of me. Yes, it’s been forever since I felt a man’s touch, but surely, no, I can’t be aroused by this?

Her head bobbed forward as she fought the feelings, and he nipped her neck sharply, releasing her neck to grip her other breast, tugging the pointed nub of her opposite painfully. She was aroused, there was no denying it, and her back arched even as she squirmed, trying to fight the feelings building deep within her.

Lydia shivered, and his tongue delved into her ear, tightening her nipples further, making them ache even more, and she shifted her legs, feeling her lips glide easily against the other, she was so wet in her arousal.

Jeremiah/Andrew moved, and thrust her onto her knees in the nearby chair, pressed against the wall. She caught herself on the edge, wrapping her fingers over the backing, and cried out softly as her dress was lifted, the cool air caressing her bare ass, and groaned loudly as he shoved two fingers deep inside her wet folds.

"Mmm yes, wet as I like you. Beg me, whore. Beg me for my cock." His fingers worked in her, twisting and thrusting, curling, making her groan and jerk, her knees sliding outward, pressing into the arms of the chair as she thrust her hips up, forcing his thick, callused fingers even deeper.

This was the Andrew she knew; dominating and masterful, playing her body as a musician would a fine-tuned violin. He knew she thrived on the rough treatment, the mild degradation at making her beg and calling her those awful names.

"Yes, y-y-yes, please!" Her moan was harsh as his other hand came round and found her clit, working it roughly for a few seconds before his thumb slid into her ass, squeezing inward as he curled his fingers upward, clutching at her, rubbing roughly against the spot that made her toes curl and back arch in response. As his fingers thrust faster, thumb roving in her ass, he drew her hair back sharply and she came with a scream, clamping on his fingers, her juice gushing out into his hands.

Lydia panted heavily and leaned into the cushion of the chair-back, unable to move from the overwhelming lust coursing through her. She didn’t even mind that the back of her skirt was hiked, bunched at her waist, the cool air brushing her swollen slit. But her whimper was reflex, an immediate reaction when she felt his hand smoothing over her ass, and then groaned as he eased his cock inside, stretching her long-unused sheath.

They groaned in tandem, and he gripped her hips with bruising force, withdrawing slowly, only to slam in hard, and fast, forcing the chair to crush against the wall with a hollow thump. Lydia shifted, moaning again.

“No, not like this… please.” Her nipples brushed the rough fabric, and her hand fell to the arm, supporting herself even as she pushed back on him, her actions belying her words of denial, and his face creased in a wicked grin as he gripped her hips and hammered his cock inside her for a few minutes. She cried out, a long keen, and shuddered, bucking against him until she was on the edge, whimpering in need when he slowed his thrusts again.

Oh, he's thick .... and so long. Longer than Andrew ever could have hoped to be. Mmm, so delicious. God, I want this. I want him! How I missed a cock fucking inside me….

Lydia gripped the chair, her knuckles turning white as he withdrew, and shivered as he gripped her thigh and pulled her knee up on the front of the arm. This change in her position caused her pussy to tighten even more around him, making him feel even bigger as he rocketed into her wet folds.

His balls slapped her ass with each thrust, and she tossed her head to get her hair out of her face. With a low chuckle, he wrapped the mass around and around his hand, giving him a reign, and tugged it almost painfully.

"Beg, bitch. Beg me to let you cum." His other hand slid down from her hip, and curled over her pussy, rubbing her sensitive clit, pulling her tighter into his slow thrusts, making her entire body quake and shudder.

"Oh please! Please make me cum." Her plea was harsh, jolting, and he paused in the middle of a thrust, circling her clit, not touching it, and slid his cock in one inch, then withdrew in a diabolical tease. She whimpered, and squirmed, trying to arch back, but his fingers tangled in her pubic hair and tugged sharply, warning her to stay still.

Circling her clit again, he delved down to where his cock was half-buried in her pussy, gathering juice and coming back up to circle it more as he thrust in just another inch, maddeningly teasing her, making her head thrash before he leaned down and bit her neck.

God, if he’d just touch my clit … fucking touch it! I’ll come apart at the seams.

He teased her thus for several excrutiating minutes, making her whimper, whine and beg for her release. "Oh please. Please… I need to cum! " She panted out, rocking her hips just so he'd tug her hair again, the sharp little pain drawing her closer to the peak.

He bent, forcing her breasts against the chair hard, tongued her ear ... and rammed his cock in deep, pressing hard on her clit at the same time. Ruthlessly, he fucked her, tugging her head back until the tips of her hair clutched in his hand tickled the swell of her ass. “Cum for me, slut!”

Lydia’s body tightened and she exploded with a scream, her orgasm hitting her hard, and a clear spray arched from her body, splashing into her gown and dousing the chair. As her body continued to spasm, his hand slid back and spread her girl-cum on the tightly puckered star above his pistoning length, and he withdrew and pressed his cockhead to the tiny opening. With a low growl and another tug on her hair, he thrust his hips and drove his cock into her ass, and his fingers pounded into her cunt, thumb slipping up to tease and grind on the bud of her clit.

She came thrashed, hips bucking beneath the rough onslaught, finding herself thrust into a dark vortex of pleasure. Never had Andrew done more than finger her ass, but now, he was fucking her there using another man’s body.

Mouth opening on a scream, she found herself cumming again on his third thrust into her ass, drenching his fingers as he jerked hard on her hair. She saw stars at the sudden pain, surprisingly heightening her pleasure, and groaned as he balls began to slap against her pussy and his grinding fingers.

He tugged harder on her hair as he felt his balls drawing up tight to his body, and he buried all four of his fingers in her wetness. His thumb worked hard on her clit to draw another orgasm as he fucked her ass a few more moments, and bellowed his orgasm as he emptied his thick ropes of come into her.

A primal scream came from her as she came, her orgasm making her eyes go wide and blank as she experienced this new orgasm. He thrust jerkily into her spasming, milking himself of the semen until he was dry, then pulled himself from her body.

He grabbed a handful of the grey silk and wrapped it around himself, cleaning his cock on the expensive material of her gown, and gave her shuddering ass a not-so-gentle smack as he chuckled. Tucking himself back into his pants, he leaned forward, almost bending over her body, and rubbed his fingers lightly over her clit, making her moan.

“I’ve no doubts to be freed from, little wife.” His words were biting and cold as he manipulated the overly-sensitive bud. “I fucked around because you never gave me that ass. I had whores and mistresses, and you knew.” His fingers didn’t stop, and he used his cum leaking from her ass as lube for his fingers as he continued to press the nubbin in tight, concentric circles to make her cum again.

“You hot little bitch.” His fingers dipped inside her as he continued to rub her clit until she cried out and shuddered, bathing his fingers again in her clear cum.

Withdrawing them, he rubbed the fluid on her ass, and cleaned his fingers on her dress again.

She turned to face him, dazed, her swollen pussy and leaking ass on display for anyone to see as he opened the door. A cold smile crossed his face.

“You’ll never get my money, Lyddie. I’ve given it all away. You did pretty good whoring yourself for this poor man. Maybe you could make some money that way, since I’ve had that tight little ass now.”

With a wave, the medium let himself out of the house, and Lydia never heard from him again.

~0~0~
Copyright USA All Rights Reserved ©2013 Mabry Michaels. 
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