{"loaderData":{"4":{"story":{"id":"84b0d61f-2bb5-425f-93f7-e03ceec75062","seriesId":null,"seriesName":null,"currentUserId":"00000000-0000-0000-0000-000000000000","added":"2023-10-28T15:03:23.281Z","title":"Lord Carey's Inheritance","slug":"lord-careys-inheritance","shortId":"JPQvGLJE","authorNote":"I posted this novella on Literotica, as polynices, in 2010.\n(It should be apparent that all characters are over eighteen years of age.)","disclaimer":"Not to be reproduced without permission","type":"Novella","paidUrl":null,"synopsis":"This is a five chapter historical novella, set in the earlier part of the 19th century - in the Regency period approximately. The cast is drawn from the determinedly corrupt English aristocracy. There's therefore a great deal of flogging and so on - 'le vice anglais'. There's also considerable attention to the pornography of the period, and some to its more specialist brothels. There's just a hint of incest too.","partCount":5,"parts":[{"partId":"9d3cf710-7d56-4e49-bcbe-59b7a765d1bd","title":"Lord Carey's Inheritance - Chapter 1","summary":"I was entertaining a pair of delightful courtesans\n-- a voluptuous mother and her sloe-eyed daughter","wordCount":3377,"readTime":17,"number":1,"state":"Published"},{"partId":"c8557236-1920-41e8-b8d5-a052de63e4bb","title":"Lord Carey's Inheritance - Chapter 2","summary":"This place is cold and the people are uncouth.\nThe days are interminable but the nights are longer. ","wordCount":5778,"readTime":29,"number":2,"state":"Published"},{"partId":"9869b38e-8655-4e75-ab7d-2a593cbbf2ce","title":"Lord Carey's Inheritance- Chapter 3","summary":"My keeper's name is Gus: a coarse, ungainly\nsyllable for a coarse, ungainly man. His lips are blubbe","wordCount":6603,"readTime":33,"number":3,"state":"Published"},{"partId":"dc584f02-945f-4300-ac86-0ddf180a24ab","title":"Lord Carey's Inheritance - Chapter 4","summary":"Author's note: There's no sex in this episode, I'm afraid - the\ndemands of the plot took precedence.","wordCount":4041,"readTime":20,"number":4,"state":"Published"},{"partId":"501125b3-e354-4beb-836d-804515f12126","title":"Lord Carey's Inheritance - Chapter 5","summary":"Gus, my swag-bellied keeper, has been\ntorturing me – a torture not of the body but of the mind. On t","wordCount":5935,"readTime":30,"number":5,"state":"Published"}],"currentPart":1,"contentTitle":"Lord Carey's Inheritance - Chapter 1","content":"

I was entertaining a pair of delightful courtesans\n-- a voluptuous mother and her sloe-eyed daughter - in the gilded salon of a\nrented Venetian palazzo, when the unlooked-for announcement came. I remember\nthe moment exactly: how my factotum -- a greasy-plump little man with thinning\nhair and outrageously waxed moustaches -- pounded excitedly on the door and,\nwithout waiting for permission, burst in upon us, crying:

\"You-er-a-Lordysheep!\nYou-er-a-Lordysheep! Im-por-tan-te-news-a!\"

I was fucking the daughter at the time, on a\nday bed, before the picture window with its broad view of the busy Grand Canal,\nwhile the mother strummed a mandolin beside us. I had intended to delay the\nculmination of my pleasure and to take the mother as well before I finished,\nbut the interruption startled me and, losing concentration, I precipitately\nspent inside the girl. She reciprocated with a crisis of her own - though\nwhether it was the fruit of true sensation, or merely simulated to compliment\nmy amatory powers, I cannot say. In any event, the daughter's squeals of\npleasure were greeted with rapture by the mother, who completed her tune with a\nflourish, then relinquished the instrument and threw her hands up in the air to\napplaud our successful efforts. I, still buried in the girl, glanced round at\nthe intruder with an understandable annoyance, and he, too, threw up his hands\n- as all Italians do at the slightest provocation. Then he informed me, in a\ntone which, with expert diplomacy, mingled commiseration and congratulation in\nequal measure:

\"You-er-a-father, you-er-a-Lordysheep!\nEe-ees-a-died-a!\"

I cannot pretend to have felt anything other\nthan sheer delight on receiving this information. I had not, I hasten to\nexplain, hated my father in the least: our relationship had been politely\ncordial, if decidedly detached, since my earliest infancy. But I had spent the\ngreater part of my childhood in distant boarding schools, where the masters\nwere chilly, the dormitories freezing, the food execrable and the other boys\nsadistic. This was a completely normal education for male offspring of my\nbreeding, and indicated no intentional cruelty on the part of my parent at all\n- but the consequence was that I had never known my father as anything other\nthan an occasionally jovial acquaintance. So when I now, at the age of twenty,\ndiscovered he had vacated this life and all he possessed therein, and that I,\nhis only son, was the sole inheritor of his estate, I was instantly propelled\nto a deep-felt sense of well-being. I was, in short, no longer the\nheir-in-waiting. I was now Lord Carey of Mountjoy. I had come into my own at\nlast!

\n\n\n\n

A messenger waited below and, when I had\nextracted my member from the girl and thrown on a robe to cover my nakedness, I\nwent down to hear the full facts. My father, it seemed, had expired of an\napoplexy some four weeks previously, after a meal of roast beef, apricots and\nfat mutton, accompanied by perhaps a pint of brandy. Later, there had been an\naltercation with a footman, who had been tardy in providing more cognac when\nthe bottle had been empty. My father had flown into a rage and died. The\nmessenger was despatched to me at once, but the Alpine passes were still\nblocked with snow, he said, and his journey had been lengthened by many days.\nHe claimed to have come to me as fast as he was able, and - though I doubted\nhis excuses for the delay - I threw him some coins in recompense for his glad\ntidings. Then I hastened to make arrangements for my departure. I wished to\nreturn to Mountjoy Hall with all possible speed.

At some point in the proceedings, my tutor,\nDr. Meecham, bumbled in. He had been appointed by my father to conduct me on\nthe Grand Tour when, two years earlier, I had been released from the torment of\nmy boarding school and, forgoing the customary attendance at the University,\nhad voiced a desire to see The World. Meecham had been the complete pedagogue\nwhen I first met him, full of sententious discourses about the enviable\nindustry of the Dutch, the high literary culture of the French, the mechanical\ningenuity of the Swiss, and the glorious arts of Italy. Once we had crossed the\nEnglish Channel, however, he revealed himself to have more fiercely consuming\npassions -- an affection for alcohol of all descriptions and an exhaustive\nknowledge of the brothels of Western Europe, both high and low. That suited my\nown intentions to a tittle, and I wondered if my father, himself a man of the\nworld, had selected my mentor for the journey with my prick rather than my\nintellect in mind. Be that as it may, Meecham and I made a slow progress\nthrough the Continent, sampling the erotic pleasures of its various regions as\nwe went. And I discovered that his only true interest in art -- consuming\nthough it genuinely was -- was in the works of Aretino and Raimondi,\nspecifically their Sixteen Postures, which, in illustrating the various acts of\nlust, constitute the finest achievements of Italian pornography.

On this particular morning, Meecham was\nalready the worse for wear, though the day's eleventh hour had still not\nchimed. I rapidly apprised him of the situation and told him I intended to\ndepart that day, leaving him to return the palazzo to our landlord and finish\nall other necessary business. He would then follow on behind, at a slower pace\nthan I, and bring all my bags and baggage back to Mountjoy. But I fear I only\nappreciated his true state of inebriation when, having told my tale, I asked if\nhe had any questions. Meecham merely blinked at me, like an owl half-blinded by\nthe daylight, and asked with a slur:

\"Where are we going, my Lord? I\ntold your father we would be in Venice for several more weeks. He will be\ndispleased, I imagine, if we depart from the agreed itinerary.\"

At that point I lost my temper. I took him by\nthe shoulders and leaned into his face, braving the rich draught of alcoholic\nvapours he wheezed back into my own.

\"My father is fucking dead!\" I\nshouted at him. \"I return to England forthwith, to claim my patrimony! And\nyou, you booze-soaked, pox-ridden old lecher, will follow after me with all my\ngear, or I'll have you horse-whipped to an inch of your life when next I see\nyou!\"

And, with that, I left him. Within the hour I\nwas conveyed out of Venice in a gondola, to the coaching station at Mestre.\nFrom there, I thought, if I did not pause for rest, I could reach England in\ntwo weeks at the utmost. Onward, I urged the boatman in my mind, to\nEngland, home, beauty and liberty!

\n\n\n\n

It took me a dozen days to get to Dover.\nHaving bought a carriage at Mestre, I surged on furiously by day and night,\nsparing neither horses nor men. I had hired two drivers, who slept in alternate\nshifts, one controlling the reins while the other recuperated from his earlier\nlabours. We made good progress through both Italy and France but, finally, near\nAmiens, a horse died in its traces, and we had to cut it out and struggle on\nwith only the remaining five. But we reached the next staging post without further\nmishap and took six fresh horses for Calais.

There was a packet-boat making sail for\nEngland just as we arrived and, by dint of bribery, I was able to delay its\ndeparture long enough to sell my carriage at a knock-down price and pay the\ndrivers before I boarded. Then there was the choppy horror of the sea. I was\nsea-sick of course -- I am never a good sailor -- but the wind was fair and the\ncrossing fast. From Dover I took a coach for London and, from there, another to\nOxfordshire.

I reached the staging post closest to Mountjoy\nin the middle of the night. I could have stayed at an inn but, there being a\nfull moon and the sky almost cloudless, I decided to hire a horse and press on\nthrough the woods direct for home. I rode through the night and reached\nMountjoy just as the sun was rising. I descended through bright mist from the\nlow hills that surround it, then urged the tired nag to a final effort and\ncantered excitedly through Mountjoy's park.

There was nobody in evidence at the Hall when\nI reached the forecourt. I swung out of the saddle and, letting the horse roam\nwhere it would, sprinted up the steps two at a time to hammer on the oaken\nportal. There was an appreciable pause, then the great door opened. Hodge, the\nmajor-domo, peered out uncertainly - then, recognising me at last, he cringed\nand bowed, tugging his forelock and stepping aside for me to enter. I gave him\na passing kick as punishment for his slowness, then strode into my new domain.

The place was still as I remembered it: a\nvenerable, rambling pile, the roof beams black with age, the flags of the entry\nsmoothed by countless feet, and dust motes playing in the pallid rays that\nfiltered through the windows high above. It gave me pause to be home after so\nlong and I was, for a moment, lost in contemplation. Then, as I stood there\nthus, a lady descended the staircase to my left -- the one that led down from\nthe family's sleeping chambers.

She was no ordinary woman and, exhausted by my\njourney as I was, it took me a moment to place her in the scheme of things. But\nthen it came to me. My father, who had been a widower since my mother had died\nat my birth, had written just six months after I left for the Continent to tell\nme he'd married again. The new wife, I was given to understand, went by the\nname of Lady Arabella. She was, he had said, a little younger than he. But his\nletter had imparted no more than that - and I, I confess, had taken little\nnotice of the matter, preoccupied as I was with the wines and whores of France.\nBut now I took a most decided interest, for the lady was arresting, nay striking,\nin appearance.

On this first sight, I put her at\nfive-and-thirty (though I later learned she was closer to forty, in fact). So\nmy father's avowal that there was little difference in their ages had been, at\nbest, an understatement -- he having been past sixty at the time of their\nnuptial union.

The lady was dressed as if for riding, but\nnot, as one might expect, in the conventional habit of a modest gentlewomen,\nwith long skirts for sitting side-saddle on a patient, docile mount. This lady\nwore a short black jacket in the Spanish style and tight, white, doe-skin\nbreeches, like a man's. Her ensemble was completed by a pair of boots of\npolished leather. There was a riding crop in her hand.

But, although this singular garb was\nsufficient in itself to attract one's gaze, the feature that caught my\nattention on the instant was the luxuriant mass of dark red hair that tumbled\nto her shoulders. -- That, at least, and the challenging glint in her eye.

She paused on the staircase's lowest tread and\nstood there smiling. (She seemed not in the least surprised to see me, and was\nunabashed by my regard.) I stared back, not bothering to disguise my\nadmiration. We remained like that, I believe, for several seconds -- much\nlonger than is normally polite when strangers meet. And the message that passed\nbetween us was quite clear: our mutual lust was as plain as the day outside.

At last, she spoke. \"Lord Jonathan, I\npresume?\"

I answered to the name and made my bow.

Then: \"You would be the Lady Arabella,\nMadam?\"

She inclined her head and smiled to admit she\nwas. But then she said:

\"You are, perhaps, a little shocked at my\nattire, my Lord? It seems, in fact, that you cannot tear your eyes away. But\nthe explanation is very simple. You see, I like to go riding early in the\nmorning and, because I have a good seat, I prefer to ride astride. I know it is\nunusual for one of my sex to comport herself thus, but I find I can control my\nstallion much better in that fashion -- with the pressure from my thighs, you\nunderstand.\"

Still gazing at those thighs, I was sure she\nwas right. I nodded my agreement. \"I would not have it otherwise,\" I\nmurmured.

She smiled again and, descending the final\nstair, came forward to me with a hand outstretched. I took it, bent, and kissed\nit. The hand was warm. Then, meeting her eyes again, I enquired after my\nsisters. (I had two - identical twins, some two years older than I but both, as\nyet, unmarried.)

\"They are still a-bed,\" said she.\n\"I will wake them later. But now, I think, you would like to retire to\nyour chamber to make your ablutions. You must be fatigued after the journey\nfrom Italy.\"

I admitted that I was - though at that moment\nall tiredness had fled from me, such was the power of attraction this woman\nhad.

Lady Arabella clapped her hands and called for\na maid. Almost instantly, one appeared. She was a pleasing-looking thing of\nsome five and twenty, with a pert smile and a round behind, I noticed. I had\nnever seen her before. She must have joined the house while I was gone.

\"Fetch warm water,\" Arabella told\nher, \"and bring it to Lord Carey's room. And be quick about it, girl. None\nof your dawdling now! Your master has returned and you must be diligent.\"

The girl bobbed a curtsey and left us, and\nArabella turned to ascend the stairs again. I followed in her wake with my\nheart beating fast.

\n\n\n\n

We went to my former chamber, where Lady\nArabella was eager to demonstrate that all had been prepared for my arrival.

\"I hope you will find me a competent\nhousewife,\" she told me. \"All the hangings have been beaten\nthoroughly, for instance.\" To emphasize the vigour of the beating, she\nsmacked her own booted calf with her riding crop, then attacked the curtains of\nmy four-poster with the same implement, to show that no dust fell.

\"And your linen has been thoroughly\naired,\" she added. She flicked the bed covers back to display the sheets.\n\"There is no dampness here, my Lord, I can assure you.\"

I muttered my approval.

\"Of course,\" said Arabella,\n\"you may desire in time to move into your late father's chambers. As the\nMaster of the house, it is only fitting that you should. I will be ready to\nvacate at a moment's notice. You have only to mention it ... if that is,\nindeed, your wish.\"

I smiled my assent again -- at which point the\npretty maid entered, bearing a steaming jug of water for me to wash with. She\ncarried it to the wash-stand and poured some in the bowl, then turned to her\nmistress, awaiting her instructions. Arabella turned to me, indicating the bed.

\"Perhaps, my Lord, you would like to\nremove your boots? If you sit here, young Dotty will assist you.\"

So I sat down and Dotty knelt before me,\ntaking one boot in her hands and tugging strenuously to draw it off. And, as I\nlooked down on her exertions, I was reminded of the whores of Italy, who kneel\nlike that to play the flute as they call it -- to perform, that is, what\nis more properly termed, in the Italian tongue, the delightful perversity of fellatio.

It entered my mind that I should like nothing\nbetter than to place my prick in her mouth, so that she could favour me with an\nEnglish rendition of the self-same tune the Italian ladies play. If it had not\nbeen for Arabella's presence, I believe I would have done it then and there,\nbut I was still uncertain of the limits of her propriety, so I desisted from my\nimpulse and waited patiently as the girl removed first one boot, then the\nother. That done, I rose and threw off my coat, then moved towards the washstand,\nwhere I began, quite innocently, to take off my shirt, before I bethought me\nthat Arabella might take it amiss to see me thus exposed. I turned my eyes\ntowards her, intending to enquire if she would countenance my stripping in her\npresence or if she would rather withdraw, but was surprised to see that she had\ntaken my former place on the bed and was sitting, legs apart, while the maid,\nwho knelt between them, pulled at her lady's boots just as she had done with\nmine. So, reasoning that if Arabella could make free with my bed I could at\nleast take off my shirt, I divested myself of the garment and threw it on the\nfloor beside my coat. Then I lowered my face to the basin and spent some time\nwashing, ridding myself of the clinging traces of the road.

When I next looked round, both Arabella's\nboots were off -- as were her breeches. The maid still knelt between her thighs\nbut now her face was pressed against the lady's ginger muff, with Arabella's\nhand placed firmly on the back of the girl's head to keep all in the proper\nplace.

I was, of course, no stranger to Sapphic lust,\nhaving seen similar shows a-plenty in the brothels of Paris, Rome and Venice.\nBut I had never before beheld a scene like this in my own domestic setting. I\nwas mightily shocked and heartily aroused -- and Arabella, seeing my amazement,\nsmiled up at me even as her bosom heaved.

\"Young Dotty's talents are not confined\nto fetching water,\" she informed me. \"In fact, that is the very least\nof her. Her tongue plays upon my clitoris so prettily and sweetly, it is like\nan angel strumming feathers on a harp. And your father told me she is equally\naccomplished when ministering to the membrum virile.\"

At that, the girl left off her labours, to\nturn her head and smile at me, but her mistress wrenched her round again quite\nroughly and pressed her mouth back firmly against her quim.

\"How many times have I to tell you, girl\n- you may not desist 'til instructed to!\" she scolded.

I saw the maid redouble her efforts now, and watched\nentranced as her mistress ascended the peak -- her cheeks blushing rosily, lips\nrounded in a tiny scarlet 'o'. At last it came and Arabella, with her head\nthrown back and both hands now pressing the girl's lips to her hole, climaxed -\nsobbing, laughing, screaming. At length, she gave a final savage shriek; then\nshe released the maid and sank back satisfied onto the bed.

There was a moment's silence as all three of\nus recovered our composure. Then Arabella crooked a finger at me.

\"Do you, my Lord, require some\nentertainment before you sleep?\" she asked.

\n\n\n\n

I had her from behind. She first knelt on all\nfours, presenting her buttocks to me, with the enticing glint of her quim\nwinking in the cleft below. I quickly removed my breeches and knelt behind her,\nthen drove my rod up hard against those fleshy lips. I sank right into her --\nlike a knife into butter. The maid had done her work with interest. Arabella\nwas more than ready: her cunt was a deep, warm, and slippery wet.

I was so intent on fucking, I did not notice\nfor some time that the maid too was taking a form of pleasure. She had lain\nback on the floor with her skirts hoicked up around her, her legs akimbo, and\nher busy fingers working at her slit. She watched us both intently as she\nfrigged - and our exertions, I realised, were the engine of her pleasure -- her\nmotive force. The girl's excitement transferred itself to me. Feeling her eyes\nupon me, I fucked my partner all the harder. I rogered her mercilessly and she\ngroaned and panted for more.

Arabella's appetite, in fact, was limitless. I\nwas convinced that, had I been able to go all day, she would have stayed with\nme to the very end. At last, however, I gave up the ghost and came. My seed\njetted into her and my tension drained away. But I stayed in the position for\nsome time longer, enjoying the warm grip of Arabella's cunt; enjoying the sight\nof Dotty, too, who was still self-pleasuring.

Then the maid finished with a protracted cry\nand I withdrew. Arabella remained kneeling where she had been. She spoke\nsternly to her maid.

\"You frigged yourself without\npermission,\" she told her. \"You know that is wrong, of course!\"

Dotty hung her head contritely, though I\nthought I detected the faintest hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

\"You know you must be chastised for\nit?\" Arabella asked her.

\"Yes, Madam, I know it,\" answered\nDotty, meekly; prettily. Then she added, huskily sotto-voce: \"I will look forward to\nit.\"

\n\n\n\n

I cannot tell when I finally closed my eyes,\nbut close they did. My exhaustion was complete. After that headlong dash across\nhalf of Europe, and the journey from Dover and my all-night ride, then finally\nthe exertions of coition, I had nothing remaining to support a waking state.\nThe dreams into which I plunged were deep and manifold - of lanes and hedges,\nvillages, towns and bridges, and the insistent clopping of many horses' hooves.\nBut, intertwined with that ghostly reprise of my journey, were visions of my\nstep-mother and her pretty, saucy maid.

I was swaddled in sensation in my bed. I was\ncradled in my sleep by Arabella's cunt. My prick twitched as I dreamed. I had\ncome home!

\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

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